Nightingale. Part 12

"I don't know, Your Grace, but I realized today, Mum will be a fair match for him, even if the birds are not."

"Should I send someone to fetch your poultry, Miss Blair?"

She frowned, not so much at the question as the designation. "Why are you calling me by my formal name again, Your Grace?"

"There seems to be renewed confusion about our ident.i.ties. My Nightingale calls me Devlin, rather than sir or Your Grace."

Before she responded, they were through the doors and into the great hall. The dowager d.u.c.h.ess stood poised at the top of the staircase.

"Your Grace," Jessica said, bobbing a quick curtsy. "Why are you still about at this time of night? Are you ill?"

Apparently unaware of his mother's presence and thinking Jessica was addressing him, Devlin said, "I promised to be on the steps awaiting your return, darling, to demonstrate that I will always keep my word to you. Others trust me for that. You have not yet learned to do so." He squeezed her shoulder affectionately. "But you will."

The dowager looked from Devlin to Jessica, then back before she cleared her throat, giving notice of her presence.

"h.e.l.lo, Mother." Devlin raised his face to the stairs, as if able to see her there. "What are you doing up and about at this hour?"

"Like you, I was concerned about the safe return of our gosling."

Gosling? Jessica realized the older woman's references often reinforced Devlin's mistaken image of her as a child. Why did the dowager help mislead her son into thinking Jessica was an infant?

Another curiosity to ponder later. Jessica seemed to be ama.s.sing a list of those.

When the ladies had retired, Devlin summoned Bear to his sitting room for an account of their journey.

Bear capsulized his report until he got to the part John Lout played in the day.

"Who is this John Lout?" the duke asked.

"A local ruffian from Welter."

"What interest does he have in our Jessica?"

Bear looked at the floor and shuffled his feet. Devlin could tell the man was uncomfortable with what he was going to say next.

"It seems, Yer Grace, that our young mistress is betrothed to the blackguard. He goes so far as to refer to her as his wife."

Devlin tried to hide his annoyance. "Describe this John Lout person."

"He's young enough, all right. Above average height, but soft around the belly. 'Pears to like his ale. The brigands riding with him defer to him. He bullies 'em. When me and the men went to the inn for a meal, I made inquiries. The man makes his living thieving and poaching. The keep said Lout's not to be trusted. He's a man little troubled with keeping his word or behaving in an honorable way. Knows nothing of the habits of gentle men and women."

Devlin locked his hands behind his back and paced. "Betrothed, is she? To a ne'er-do-well. I suppose I shall have to do something about that."

"Is that all you need from me, Yer Grace?"

Devlin turned his full attention on Bear. "When did you begin addressing me as 'Your Grace'?"

He could hear the grin as Bear brightened. "Since ye've begun behaving the part, Yer Grace."

"Does this change you detect in my behavior please you?"

"Aye. It does my heart good to see you maturing to the office you was born to."

Devlin stepped in front of his old friend and opened his arms. The two men hugged one another like two great bears, and then broke the embrace, laughing.

"Thank you for your years of patient instruction," Devlin said, clapping the larger man on the shoulders.

"It's been my own pleasure to have a hand in watching the boy of promise grow into the man he was designed by his Maker to be."

With a silent, unseen salute, Bear let himself out of the chamber as Devlin's face darkened and he returned to his pacing to contemplate this new information.

Jessica had been back for two days, days in which she cajoled and baited the duke out of his occasional doldrums into trying things others thought him incapable or unwilling to do without sight.

With Job-like patience, she taught him to tat and knit. His fingers were thick and c.u.mbersome, yet he persisted, determined to please her. She enjoyed the shared intimacy of the lessons, during which their bodies frequently brushed one another, light touches of little consequence to anyone else.

Devlin had visitors, both social and business a.s.sociates. After supper one evening as he entertained such guests, Jessica strolled out into the twilight, walking to the paddocks to visit Freddie. The colt came at a stiff-legged run when he saw her. As she stood rubbing his nose, she noticed two figures walking together along the lane. Not wis.h.i.+ng to interrupt, Jessica stood still and continued murmuring to the young horse.

As the walkers drew close, she recognized Martha, her figure, swollen with child, distinctive in the failing light. Jessica did not, however, recognize Martha's companion, who wore gentleman's attire. He was a grown man, tall, his stride uneven. The couple stopped near the top of the lane and the man appeared about to take his leave. Before he did, however, he brushed a hand over Martha's protruding belly and laughed, rather raucously, before he put a light kiss on Martha's forehead, mounted his waiting horse, and rode off toward the highway.

Jessica had seen the man before. In Welter. She stiffened. Yes. A man like this one had ridden with John Lout. He was notable in Welter, for he dressed and carried himself like a gentleman. If it were the same man, what link could there possibly be between John Lout, a gentleman, and a chambermaid from s.h.i.+ller's Green?

Early one morning, at the end of her second week at Gull's Way, Jessica looked out to rejoice in the unseasonable warmth and a bright sun. The air was crisp, but there were bees and tiny spring beauties dotting the lawns, hints of summer coming. She found it invigorating.

She raised her chin with a new idea. She would take the duke out into this bracing day. He was accustomed to riding wherever and whenever he chose. Perhaps being confined to the house placed an additional, unnecessary damper on his spirits.

Jessica entered the dining room dressed in a vivid blue riding habit to find Devlin standing at the sideboard, his empty plate poised as he inhaled the fragrances of the breakfast selections before him.

She called a light "Good morning," as she approached, but he was turning toward her before she spoke.

"Is it a good morning to you?" he asked. There was annoyance in his manner and his voice. "I'm glad you approve the day."

"I do approve, Your Grace, and so will you."

"Not I, Nightingale, for I cannot see it."

"Not see the gulls circling?"

He set his rock hard jaw in a belligerent line. "No."

"The gulls' antics are clearly stored in your mind's eye, are they not?"

He hesitated a moment before his jaws relaxed slightly. "Yes, well, I suppose so."

"The brilliance of the suns.h.i.+ne chasing early morning fog from these rolling, manicured lawns? Have you no recollection of that?"

"Of course, Nightingale. I've spent most of my life at Gull's Way. I am familiar with all the seasons here."

"Then those pictures remain clear in your head?"

"Am I to live the balance of my years on memories?"

"I would say not, Your Grace."

"Am I ever again to gallop Vindicator through the open fields, the sun and wind, rain or snow or sleet stinging my flesh?"

Jessica flashed the dowager a warning squint as the older woman entered the room to hear the wistful tone in Devlin's voice.

"I should think you would be happy to have an excuse for missing all that, Your Grace, as unpleasant as you make it sound. I suppose you will count it as loss that you will not have to endure any of those when you ride out today?"

"What?" He looked as if he hadn't heard her correctly. His mother held her silence.

"In spite of the glorious weather and your difficult att.i.tude, sir, I think I shall take you riding this morning."

Devlin set his stubborn chin toward her, and snorted his disbelief. "I hardly think a child - particularly a girl with so little experience riding - is competent to look after a blind man on a horse out in the open."

"You have a short memory, Your Grace, if you do not recall that this child did exactly that one night quite recently, and subsequently delivered you safely into your mother's arms under conditions hardly as inviting as these."

All right, she was taking credit for having accomplished a feat for which the horse was responsible, but her comment had the desired result. She had learned that to motivate this haughty man, she need only p.r.i.c.k his pride to draw him.

He fairly threw his half-filled plate onto the serving table, but she did not allow him to argue.

"Oh no, Your Grace, you need a proper breakfast. We'll not provide excuses for failing to keep up with a child, and a girl at that."

"If I am to ride today, Jessica, I shall do so in the able company of a groom rather than a snippy chit who refuses to demonstrate the proper regard for me or my station."

"No, sir, you will not ride out with any groom, unless you prefer to ride Molly, that dottering old mare you a.s.signed to my use."

Devlin's voice became thunderous. "This is my home, you impertinent baggage. The staff here, the villagers, everyone within the influence of these estates yields to my bidding."

"Yes, well, they might be intimidated enough by your bellowing and bullying to do so, but I am not, and I, sir, am the one authorized by Dr. Brussel to serve as your eyes. Furthermore, he insisted that when you and I disagreed, as he expected we might, I should exercise my own sound judgment rather than defer to your demands."

She did not allow him an interruption. "Not only that, sir, but your esteemed Dr. Brussel pa.s.sed that command to your mother and others in this household. You shall either submit to me, you overbearing oaf, or, by heaven and by doctor's orders, I will keep you prisoner within these walls for as long as it takes you to develop a proper regard for my authority."

Jessica had braced for lengthy, difficult negotiations. She was not prepared for laughter.

Sputtering, spewing, apparently unable to speak, Devlin, the Twelfth Duke of Fornay, picked up the plate he had discarded and, groping, spooned eggs and meat onto it.

Apparently she had won.

"Mr. Patterson," Jessica said, "please ask Cook to prepare a picnic luncheon. I shall be at the back door to collect it shortly."

Disregarding the gaping stares, Jessica lifted her chin and set out to convince Figg that the duke should be allowed to ride his fractious stallion. To put the man on any other mount would undermine the confidence Jessica was determined to foster, even if it were risky.

An hour later, galloping into the day, Jessica realized all her bra.s.sy decisions were correct.

To begin, Sweetness exhibited exemplary behavior. As before, the huge animal seemed to sense Devlin's limitations and waited until his rider was well seated before he began to prance, demonstrating his usual eagerness to be off. Devlin laughed aloud at his mount's vigor.

"I doubt you and Molly will be able to keep up today, Nightingale," Devlin said, not bothering to veil the challenge in his voice.

He did not know she was not on Molly, but Dancer, a long-legged, eight-year-old gelding, one of the few horses in the duke's stable with quality to match Vindicator. Dancer also was the stallion's familiar stable mate which Figg thought might encourage Vindicator's proper behavior.

"Lead off, Your Grace. We will attempt to keep you in sight."

Laughing again, for no apparent reason, Devlin yanked Vindicator around, sent him on a course heading east and gave the horse his head. The mount kicked his heels, as excited as his rider. Luckily, the duke was familiar enough with the course to adjust as Vindicator gathered himself and jumped the stone wall at the far end of the field. Devlin's laughter resonated as man and horse flew over the barrier.

Jessica smiled. She didn't know where they were going, nor did she care. More sure of herself in the sidesaddle after several riding sessions from Figg mornings and afternoons, Jessica easily held Dancer in check.

The duke and his mount waited for them at the edge of a small lake. Devlin's fair hair was tousled, his face flushed. His broad grin exposed large teeth that gleamed l.u.s.trously white. Jessica couldn't help smiling at how hale and hearty he looked.

"Is this the spot for our picnic, Your Grace?"

"Please, Nightingale, indulge me. Call me Devlin, at least while we are away from the house ... and alone."

She wondered at the curious hesitation. Was he as conscious of their isolation as she? "Dismount then, Devlin, and secure the horses." She jumped down, rather gracefully, she thought, under the circ.u.mstances, and handed Dancer's reins into Devlin's hand.

"But I can't ... " he began before he apparently remembered to whom he was speaking. "Oh, I see. This is your attempt to make me more self-reliant. Is that it?"

He seldom secured his own mount when he had his sight, so the work was unfamiliar. If he did not perform the task, however, it would fall to her.

He muttered and fumbled with the horse's reins while he dismounted. Jessica removed the pack containing their luncheon secured behind the cantle of Dancer's saddle.

Humming lightly, because she was happy, as well as to give Devlin an idea of her whereabouts, Jessica spread the cloth over a gra.s.sy patch near the water and arranged the a.s.sorted meats - chicken and slices of beef - and cheese. As she opened the loaf of bread, she wondered if the loaf was that fresh, or if it retained its heat by being so close to the horse's body.

"What horse are you riding, Nightingale?"

She smiled that he had guessed. "Dancer. He is more a match for Vindicator's range."

"Hmm. You have had instruction?"

"Yes, mornings while you hid yourself away in your study and afternoons when you met with business a.s.sociates."

"I see."

After a brief silence, the duke introduced another subject. "What do you think of our young queen, Nightingale, or have you any interest in politics?"

"I have, and I admire her."

"Of course you do. She is not yet twenty herself. It is only natural that she would appear attractive to a female of your tender years."

Jessica set out grapes, opened a bottle of wine and wondered at his words, which reflected a man's haughty att.i.tude.

"The queen is already a s.h.i.+ning example of the dignity we have missed in our royals in recent years," she said.