Nightingale (16 page)

She yearned at that moment, to prove her womanhood; to throw her arms around his neck and press her lips to his, to rouse his manly instincts, which seemed to lurk close to the surface in most men. She could entice him, encourage him to roll up on top of her and do those things that occur in private between men and women, things she had heard of and read about.

Her behavior at this moment might dictate a direction for the rest of her life. She did not intend to be deflowered by any man, noble or not, and left by the wayside. Not like Martha. … His hands shifted to her waist and he grinned as he tugged, pulling her forward and off balance. Rolling onto his back, he carried her with him.

Sprawled on top of him, Jessica braced her hands on his chest and pushed herself away, but he held fast. They struggled before he caught her face in his hands and brought her nose to his nose. Chuckling, he tilted her face down and planted his lips firmly against her forehead.

“You are my own angel, Nightingale, sent to me from God in Heaven. I would not defile you, had you the allure of Salome and Bathsheba combined. Although I am totally enamored, you are safe from my base appetites and shall remain so.”

He rolled, pushing her off to the side, away from the food.

“You might have squashed our lunch,” she admonished, clambering to her feet and straightening her clothes.

“I would never have done such a vile thing. Our food is on my left, well away from our tussling. I knew exactly where it was. I may not be able to see, my darling little twit, but there is nothing wrong with my sense of smell.”

Under the circumstances at that moment, Jessica was not certain whether she preferred his considering her a temptress or a twit.

The dowager duchess regarded them curiously as Devlin and Jessica came through the front door of the house. Devlin swung the basket containing the remains of their lunch. He appeared windblown and disheveled, but moved with a light, jocular step.

With a quick greeting, Jessica dashed up the stairway.

Lady Anne couldn’t be sure, but their friendship was developing precisely as she had hoped it might — her primary concern that it not progress more quickly than was seemly.

“Devlin, I want to go to London.” Receiving no adverse reaction, she continued. “I want Jessica to accompany me.”

A pall settled over the foyer and its two occupants. The dowager thought Devlin’s frown an inappropriate response to her happy announcement.

“No.” His curt tone surprised her. “Jessica’s trip to Welter and our outing today were enough to curb her appetite for travel. She’s had quite enough gadding about.”

“At her age,” the dowager said, nullifying his objection with a wave, “Jessica has energy to sustain her on a dozen jaunts like those.”

He squared his shoulders. “She stays with me.”

“Here? Without a chaperone? That would not do. Today is an example. It is not proper for the two of you to go traipsing off alone, even here at Gull’s Way.”

He puffed up. “I will have you know, madam, that I was there to chaperone, ready to protect our young lady from any threat, man or beast. I consider seeing after her my solemn duty.”

She wondered if he were trying to misdirect her or if his statement indicated an effort to mislead himself.

“I see. Well, you’ve explained away my concern in that regard.” She wanted to be diplomatic. “In that case, I suppose Jessica and I shall have to allow you to accompany us to town.”

“Hmm.” He frowned. “I don’t recall your ever requiring my protection on your trips to town before, Madam. Why do you consider it important for Jessica to go to London?”

Her hauteur waned. “Oh, Devlin, first because she has never been to town. Oh, darling, it would be such fun. Also, of course, she needs proper clothes. Although she is delightful in the frocks made with the limited resources available locally, she is going to require fashionable attire, the latest styles from a London modiste. Something befitting her rank.”

“Precisely what rank is that?” He sneered.

Disregarding his question and his disdain, Lady Anne pursued her own thoughts. “I want to introduce her to people in town, smooth the way for her entrance into society.”

“Madam,” Devlin said, raising his voice, “might I remind you that Jessica has no rank for her clothes to aspire to.”

“She is too lovely, Devlin, too winsome, her mind too quick, to remain buried in Welter. Also, I might point out that, just as you yourself have said, she is not yours to control. She is neither your child nor your ward nor any relation to you whatsoever, so please do not dictate to me how she should be outfitted or introduced.”

As Devlin shook his head and frowned, the dowager studied her son and contemplated not what he had said, but the significance of what he had not said. While he artlessly granted that Jessica was a nobody, he did not suggest she continue to live in anonymity. With that in mind, Lady Anne thought she needed to tread carefully on his feelings and proceed tactfully.

“Of course, darling,” she cooed, smoothing the feathers she had ruffled, “to be accepted, she must be seen with you.”

Having changed her clothes, Jessica came back down the stairs. Lady Anne beckoned her to join them, preceding them into Devlin’s study as she continued talking.

“As an added benefit, Devlin, if you travel with us, we shall have an opportunity to consult with Dr. Connor, the ophthalmologist, about your eyes.” She addressed herself to Jessica, as if signaling for her assistance. “Ophthalmology, my dear, is a brand new area of medicine specializing in diseases of and injuries to the eyes.”

Jessica touched Devlin’s arm. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, Devlin. Your mother wants to go to London and it would be an opportunity for you to see this specialist.”

“You are my eyes, Nightingale. If I go, you must go also.”

Jessica hesitated. She had not been out of her own river valley until she brought Devlin home. Likely, she would never have another chance to visit London, certainly, never an opportunity to travel there in luxury.

“I would be happy to accompany you and your mother to London.”

Devlin pursed his lips and appeared to consider the plan that had the endorsement of the two most influential women in his life. Finally, he raised and lowered his shoulders and gave what appeared rather an indifferent nod.

“All right. We shall all go to London.”

“When?” his mother pressed.

“Could we allow time to prepare, madam?”

“Of course. Let us plan to leave on Tuesday next.”

• • •

After a good night’s sleep, a result, he supposed, of the ride in the fresh air and flexing wills against an able, and thoroughly delightful, opponent, Devlin rose with a new sense of well-being. His could see the forms of furnishings and even Henry’s narrow physique as the valet moved about the room.

At the breakfast table, light drew the duke’s eyes to the chandelier. He could see the candles flickering. He shifted his gaze to Jessica as she entered the room. He was eager to see the waif, the female whose importance increased daily, not only to his household, but to him personally.

As he attempted to focus on her, however, his erratic sight failed and he was again plunged into darkness.

Still, brief glimpses of light several mornings in a row indicated Jessica’s original optimism might be justified. His sight seemed to be returning, if only in annoying, fleeting snippets. He resolved again to keep the incidents secret until he could be more certain they signaled recovery. He did not want to arouse the false hope in others that was taking root in him. Also, he did not look forward to females fussing or any other repercussions.

Jessica and his mother and Dr. Brussel all might have been correct in prescribing rest as the best medicine, yet he felt compelled to travel with Jessica and his mother to London, strain or no. Like his mother, he was eager to see Jessica’s reaction to the comforts and luxuries of his town house, as well as the sights of London. He rather fancied the idea of squiring her about, showing her off in society, even if he were not able actually to see the envious glances of other gentlemen.

Yes, the benefit of having his Nightingale in town among old friends and neighbors would definitely lift all of their spirits.

Devlin also enjoyed the prospect of continuing in the close company of these two most important people and to protect and guide and advise them.

He couldn’t recall how long it had been since his mother had sought his advice or guidance. Devlin smiled at his own conceit. He had not realized humility had been absent from his life until Jessica came to raise his awareness of that.

• • •

“Another fine day for a picnic, wouldn’t you say, Jessica?” the duke inquired as he finished breakfast.

“I thought we might attempt a different kind of outing today,” Jessica said.

Devlin smiled, anticipating any suggestion she might make. “What do you have in mind?”

“I think it is time you became reacquainted with mother earth.” Seeing his smile waver, she hurried on. “You often remark, in a complimentary way, that I smell of earth and fresh air and roses. Toiling among the flowers is gratifying.”

“I imagine that is true, if one is a gardener,” Devlin said.

“The joy of horticulture is not limited to the lowly gardener, Your Grace. I understand that you successfully cultivated the soil when you were a youth.”

He chuckled. “True. My efforts produced an abundance of mud cakes. Properly dried, they were ammunition against unarmed brothers and unsuspecting grooms.”

Jessica’s light laugh joined with his. “Yes, well, fortunately, we have some cuttings from the most robust yellow roses in your gardens. I want to plant them beneath the windows and along the walkway from the door of the small salon that serves as your study.”

He frowned as if he had difficulty recalling the site.

“It is an area clearly visible from your desk. Do you remember it?”

“Vaguely. How do you know it wants planting?”

“I often slip through your study and out that way when I cannot sleep. That garden is protected from the North by the great wall. The house and that wall often retain the days’ warmth. It is a serene place where one may say her prayers.”

He looked puzzled. “I see.”

“I would like your help placing the slips in the ground.”

“Jessica, I am a duke.”

“Yes, and are allowed to participate in any activity you choose. Is that not correct?”

“Well, yes, I suppose.” He appeared to be genuinely perplexed. “You believe I might benefit from planting roses?”

“Yes. Of course, there is one stipulation.”

“What is that?”

“No mud cakes.”

“What of your theory that I am the duke and entitled to do anything I like?”

“It is a matter of your image, sir.”

“Mud cakes might tarnish my reputation?”

“I am certain of it.”

“But what if …. ?”

“I have a supply of mud cakes myself, prepared only yesterday, to prevent this very speculation on your part.”

“What speculation?”

“The plan you are hatching as we speak.”

His mischievous smile warmed her through. Their laughter twined in unison through the dining room. Listening, the dowager smiled as she often did at their exchanges.

Devlin and Jessica spent the morning on their knees, digging in the soil. He drew surprising pleasure and finished with a feeling of accomplishment, basking in Jessica’s praise of his work. His back felt strained, he had blisters on both thumbs, and the muscles in his legs twitched objections. In spite of all that, he breathed deeply as Henry helped him bathe. He ate a hearty luncheon.

• • •

Before the rooster’s crow, Jessica awoke to the sound of alarmed, muffled voices downstairs. She grabbed a wrapper and hurried to quiet the commotion before Their Graces were disturbed.

The front door stood wide open and a buzz of conversation issued from the broad sweep of steps just outside.

A crowd clustered about an object on the stairs. Jessica shouldered her way in to find Martha lying there.

“Has she fainted?” Jessica asked. Without waiting for an answer, she said, “Quickly, someone bring a cup of water.”

Kneeling beside the fallen figure, Odessa glanced up, her eyes round. “She’s dead, Ma’am.”

“But she looks … ” Jessica didn’t finish as she studied the peculiar way Martha’s head was bent. “Did she fall? Why was she out here so early? Will the baby …. ?”

At that moment, Sophie pushed through the gathering and dropped to her knees beside her unmoving friend. “Oh, Martha, what have you done?” She clamped both hands over her mouth as Odessa stood and pulled the younger woman to her feet.

“There, there, Sophie. She’s gone now and comfortable as any of us can be. You go along inside. Go on into the kitchen and brew a strong pot a’ tea. We’ll be needing it.”

On her feet, Sophie started to speak, and then apparently changed her mind. With a quick glance back at Martha’s form on the steps, she scuttled into the house.

Jessica watched Odessa. The older woman looked distraught, yet began issuing orders. “John, fetch Mr. Patterson. Dolan, get out there and build us a decent coffin.”

When the dozen or so staff people remaining turned as one, Jessica followed to find the dowager and Devlin negotiating the steps arm-in-arm. While she wanted to intercept them, she hardly knew what to do about Martha’s body without their input.

Everyone began speaking at once until Odessa raised a hand to silence them. In a clear, calm voice, she stated what she knew. One of the horses was foaling. It took two stable boys to help. Afterward, they saw a shadowy presence on the stairs. The boys found Martha dead. It looked as if she had fallen.

“Strange though,” Odessa said, “Martha has stayed to the back of the house these last weeks, not wanting to make too much of her condition. I know of no reason she should be on the front steps, ’specially so early in the day.”

“Perhaps she had a caller,” Jessica suggested.

Everyone regarded her strangely, but no one spoke as the dowager described the scene to Devlin in low tones. He assumed command.