Say Yes to the Duke (27 page)

At the dower house, he jumped down to help the ladies out.

Once on the ground, Miss Branson gave him the once-over. “You’re a fine specimen of
manhood,” she said, not bothering to lower her voice.

But Janice never looked at him. She simply held out her gloved hand and he helped
her alight.

“Are you all right, my lady?” he murmured for her ears only.

It was all he wanted to know. It had been growing inside him from the moment he’d
heard about her engagement. Waiting through the sleigh ride had taxed his patience
more than anything else he’d ever done. He needed to know: was she all right?

But she didn’t say a word.

She walked right past him to the front of the horses, where she waited for Grayson
to join her, never once looking back at Luke.

The knowledge sat like a great stone on his chest. She was a lady, and he was a groom.
Even if he proved to be a duke, he was still a groom at heart. A boxer. A soldier.
A man who’d made money throwing troublemakers out of pubs.

Face it, Callahan. She’s beyond you.
He watched her take Grayson’s arm.
And you don’t need her anyway.

Chapter Twenty-two

Janice was desperate to talk to Luke. But she couldn’t. Grayson was like a hawk, watching
her every move. When Luke had asked her if she was all right when he helped her down
from the carriage, she could hardly bear it. She wanted to say,
No. I’m not. And there’s nothing I can do about it. If I do, you’ll be in danger.

She’d gone round and round in her mind, looking for a way out, but she hadn’t been
able to find it. Her best idea had been to run to Mama and Daddy and tell them what
had happened. She’d have to let them know the whole truth, and they’d be devastated
at the choices she’d made, but they wouldn’t make her marry the duke, surely. And
somehow Daddy would make sure that Halsey couldn’t hurt Luke.

But could her father really protect him?

Daddy was an Irish marquess. As a duke Halsey outranked him. And if Halsey wanted
to see something done to Luke, he could do it.

Janice also had to consider the awful possibility that Daddy would
agree
with the duke. Halsey would tell him how the groom had taken advantage of her, and
Daddy would—God forbid—want to hurt Luke, too.

So why get her family involved at all?

For now, at least, Janice was trapped.

“We’ll see the house first, and we’ll finish our tour in the stove house, where the
orchids are kept,” His Grace told the company, and held tight to Janice’s arm.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Luke tending to the horses.

How could she get over there to see him? She had no idea. She wished now she’d accidentally
left something in the sleigh, but she hadn’t, except for her muffler.

As they walked through the house—which was charming—her frustration grew. She looked
discreetly out of every window on the north side, which faced the stove house and
the small stable, to keep an eye on Luke. As a consequence, she wound up missing some
of what the housekeeper told them about each room, lovely though they were. Janice
did learn that the dowager had moved there long ago, when Halsey’s father had been
duke and had brought his own duchess home, the current duke’s mother. That was the
usual way of things, of course. Old duchesses must make way for new.

Over strawberries and sparkling wine in the front drawing room—which she was required
to thank the duke for—Janice truly felt that coming to live here wouldn’t seem like
a step down for any dowager. She liked the house very much.

The dower house was populated with caring servants. It was sunny. And beautiful. Yet
Halsey had moved the dowager to a dark room with no company in a house in which the
duke’s questionable guests got far more attention than she did.

“Are you enjoying the strawberries?” He leaned closer to Janice.

Because he’d provided them, she loathed eating the precious fruit and drinking the
fine sparkling wine. But she must make a pretense to or risk his wrath, which was
subtle, cold, and struck one unaware.

“Delicious.” She quickly bit into another strawberry so she wouldn’t have to talk
to him.

He looked mildly satisfied. But now that she knew how perceptive he was, she had no
idea how well she was hiding her utter misery.

And then she saw a beautiful painting of an Irish cottage.

Her heart nearly burst with homesickness. She was a grown woman, but how she wished
she were at Ballybrook right now, in the bosom of the family who loved her! She drained
her glass of sparkling wine so she wouldn’t think too hard about how lonely she felt.
And she determined that as soon as she got back to Halsey House she’d have a tea break
with Isobel and talk about silly little things.

Only Isobel knew the truth about Janice’s engagement and the fact that she had spent
private time with Luke. The maid was ecstatic about the latter development and clever
enough not to ask Janice for details. But about the duke—Izzy felt as wretched as
Janice did.

“I don’t want you to be the Duchess of Halsey,” Izzy had said this morning, “if it
means you have to be married to such a wicked man. I wish I could do something to
help. But I don’t know what.”

“You can help by staying out of it,” Janice told her. “He means what he says. And
I’d never forgive myself if Mr. Callahan got sent to jail on trumped-up charges.”

“He could even be shipped out of the country”—Isobel winced—“or … or hanged, if the
crime he might be accused of is particularly loathsome.”

“God forbid.” Janice’s pulse raced at the thought.

They shared a worried look.

Isobel sighed. “I suppose we’re here for a while then.”

“Yes,” Janice said. “I suppose.”

“Perhaps your whole life.” Isobel looked pityingly at her.

“I should hope not.” Janice plucked at the bedcover. “The duke does have a house in
Town and other properties scattered about southern England.”

Isobel sank onto the bed beside her and patted her arm. “That’s good. You’ll be able
to see your family. Let’s look on the bright side. At least now we can keep looking
for that diary.”

Isobel was searching for it at that very moment, and Janice desperately hoped she’d
find it, because then Luke could learn about his mother. That would make her very
happy. If she couldn’t
talk
to him, at least she could find him that journal.

She imagined sort of secretly throwing it at him as she walked by and began to get
that lump in her throat again, thinking about how she couldn’t talk to him or kiss
him—good Lord, she couldn’t hold the puppies, either! or laugh with Aaron!—when the
duke stood and held out his hand.

“We’ll go to the stove house now,” he said.

Of course they would. They’d do whatever he wanted. Janice placed her hand in his
and stood, a slow-boiling fury starting to replace her self-pity.

Miss Branson wasn’t yet done with her sparkling wine, and Lord Rowntree had requested
tea, which had only just arrived. Mrs. Friday, the dear, was opening her mouth to
bite into a strawberry.

But Halsey had to have his way.

Everyone else stood, too, and no one complained.

Janice inhaled a deep breath through her nose and wondered how long it would take
her to get used to being the Duchess of Halsey. How many years would she spend with
this intimidating man with no heart? Would they grow old together? And what about …
children?

Dear God, of course she’d have to produce at least an heir and a spare!

She hadn’t thought that far. The idea of getting into a bed with Halsey and having
him touch her that way was
awful.
She prayed he’d tire of her quickly and that they could live separately.

The walk to the stove house was an easy one, down a stone path that had been cleared
of snow. Janice looked swiftly about to see where Luke was—

“He’s in the kitchen, having tea,” said the duke.

How on earth did he know what she was thinking? And how did he know where Luke was?

The man never rested, did he? Janice felt positively suffocated, knowing she was being
watched so closely. And he had minions everywhere, it seemed. The members of the sleigh
party certainly hadn’t dipped into the kitchen on their tour—a servant must have come
to tell Halsey where Luke was.

Either that or the duke was lying, just to keep her in her place. She wouldn’t put
it past him.

She could lie, too. “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” she told him.

He chuckled. If one didn’t know him, one would think him a pleasant man, judging from
that chuckle. But Janice recognized that it wasn’t a nice sound. It was horrid. It
promised retribution of an unknown sort to anyone who crossed him.

And she realized at that moment that she was a prisoner forever. If she ran away,
Halsey would hurt someone she cared about. Even if she tattled on him to her parents,
they couldn’t protect Luke. And Aaron. And Mrs. Friday.

The only way out was if Halsey died. And Janice couldn’t kill him. She felt so guilty
even thinking in that direction, she said a quick prayer just as they ducked into
the stove house.

It was such an interesting place.

In the warm, moist air, she immediately forgot about the duke. The orchids were so
exotic. Many appeared fragile, their stems and petals stark in a hauntingly lovely
way. Others were wildly beautiful: the bold pinks and oranges were Janice’s favorites.
She’d seen orchids in London and heard how different they were from other flowers.
But walking up and down the rows of them, she got to learn from the elderly gardener
who watched over them exactly how much work went into producing them. And there was
no guarantee that work would pay off.

“Sometimes it do; sometimes it don’t,” he said in that simple way that good country
folk often did.

“Keeping the fire stoked appears to be a full-time job.” Janice admired his stamina.

“It’s my privilege to do it,” he replied.

He was such a nice, hardworking man who seemed to genuinely love the orchids. He must
have liked how interested she was, because he drew her aside, almost as if she were
his special guest, and showed her some remarkable drawings he’d made of the orchids
using a stick of coal.

“You’re a true artist,” she said, marveling at the pictures.

“Thank you.” He beamed. “I like to pass the time while the fire’s heating up by sketching
my favorite ones. My fingers don’t work like they used to, but I think the drawing
helps keep them limber.”

As he flipped through the book, he explained what he liked about each different orchid.
And then he’d say, “This one didn’t last long” or “This one’s over in the corner”
or “The dowager’s favorite is this one here.”

Janice was intrigued, to be sure, and so grateful to be able to relax for a moment
and enjoy his company.

“Do you have any more?” she asked him when they were through perusing the sketches.

“I have an entire collection on that shelf.” He angled his chin at a small buckled
shelf that held a few clay pots and a stack of simply bound sketchbooks.

“My goodness,” she said, “I’d love to see them!”

But she sensed that she was missed. Indeed, when she looked over her shoulder the
duke was gazing their way, his pocket watch in his hand.

“Perhaps another time,” she said to the gardener. “I believe we’re leaving now.”

He nodded, and she could tell he was disappointed.

“I promise,” she said. “I’ll be back.”

“You are the duke’s intended bride, are you not?” he asked.

She smiled. “Word travels fast, doesn’t it? It’s not official yet, but yes, we’re
to marry.”

The gardener’s face lit up. “Good. Because I hope to make some improvements here.”
He lowered his voice. “Her Grace’s greatest joy when she lived at the dower house
was coming out to see the orchids every day, but His Grace is adamantly opposed. He
thinks this entire operation is a waste of money. But with a missus in the house,
perhaps he’ll think differently.” He winked at her.

A wave of guilt rushed over Janice. She was about to lie to this wonderful man. “I’ll
do what I can,” she said with a nervous smile.

But she knew she wouldn’t be able to help him. If Halsey didn’t want something, it
didn’t happen.

The gardener must have sensed her fretting. “Don’t you worry, my lady.” He shut the
little sketchbook with fingers stiff and bent with age. “If you can’t do anything,
we’ll get by. We always have in these parts.”

He smiled as if to reassure
her,
she who had wealth and status and privilege—and she was so touched by his simple
courage and good cheer that she took his hand and squeezed it. “I like you,” she said,
feeling inspired by him.

“And I like
you,
” he said back. “But I’d better let you go. The duke is waiting.”

“All right.” She winked at him and felt miles better.

She couldn’t wait to see Luke again. She wished she could tell him about the orchids.
He was such a good listener. And this time, when he helped her to her seat, she hoped
somehow to convey to him (without the duke being aware) that she didn’t want to be
this way: cold, removed, and seemingly oblivious to his existence. She didn’t know
how she’d manage it, but she wanted to try.

But she never got the chance. She was holding Halsey’s arm when she walked up to the
sleigh, and he helped her into it. This time Lord Yarrow and Mrs. Friday joined them.

When Luke climbed up to his seat, he didn’t even look at her.

Janice struggled not to let her disappointment show. It helped that Lord Yarrow kept
asking her questions about her family’s Irish estate, but she felt the duke’s eye
on her as she answered and wondered if he saw through her contrived amiability.

The sleigh took off smoothly—theirs was in the lead—when the duke called out sharply,
“Driver!”