Nightingale. Part 27

"Yes." He raised a hand, palm out. "Do not get out of sorts. I did not tell her first. She caught me staring into her face and guessed. I would appreciate your not discussing it, not even with her."

"Darling, she will be so pleased about your progress. She has been so certain you were going to get well."

"When I am, she probably will leave. What then of your plans to see her well married?"

"I cannot bear the thought of her leaving. Oh, Devlin, she has brought sunlight into my life." She cast a look at him and realized he shared similar thoughts. "That is part of your concern, isn't it? Does the idea of Jessica leaving trouble you?"

He did not speak, nor did he indicate he had heard her questions.

"It is obvious, darling, that you want her to stay, perhaps as badly as I do. That is correct, is it not?"

Again he didn't respond, but spoke as if he had not heard. "Perhaps you had better see to your hatchling, Mother. I am a grown man no longer given to sharing his innermost thoughts with his mama."

Lady Anne started to chastise him, then decided that his grief at the prospect of losing Jessica was punishment enough. She might have a word with Jessica before retiring.

Devlin recovered his manners and stood to escort his mother to the door. Lady Anne turned and he bent allowing her to press a kiss to his forehead.

"Sweet dreams, darling," she said, then held him as she gazed into his face - a face she had loved since giving birth to him nearly twenty-nine years before. He rewarded her lengthy silence with a smile.

The d.u.c.h.ess went directly to Jessica's rooms. When the door opened to her light rap, Lady Anne marveled that the girl's troubled expression nearly mirrored Devlin's.

"How are you feeling, darling?" Lady Anne began as they sat in chairs at either side of the small hearth in Jessica's rooms.

The younger woman had changed into a dressing gown, but she appeared more stimulated than fatigued.

"Do you have a headache?" the dowager asked.

Jessica touched her injured crown tenderly. "Only a little one."

"I am certain Devlin will offer recompense for his wretched behavior."

"He has already apologized."

The dowager studied her. "He seemed uncertain about whether you were alert enough to be aware of his apology."

Jessica stared at the small blaze brightening the room and wondered again at the strange sensations she experienced as she had revived that morning in Devlin's arms. Had he touched her as intimately as she thought, or had that been a beautiful dream?

She had never allowed any man to caress her as she imagined he had, and she had been shocked by her own responses, whether it was real or a dream. Instead of being offended, as would have been proper, she had felt exhilarated. When he withdrew his hand from her breast, she groaned with disappointment. She had wanted him to continue touching her.

A sharp rap at the door startled both women. Jessica hurried to answer, opening to Devlin. He stood there, still in his clothes, his hair mussed as if he had run his hands through it, repeatedly. She hoped neither he nor the dowager would notice how she flushed. If so, maybe they would attribute it to sitting near the fire.

"Is my mother here?" he asked brusquely.

"Yes. Come join us." Jessica felt a leap of pleasure when he reached for her shoulder before she realized he only required guidance. As was their habit, she turned her back, presenting the shoulder for his hand so she could lead him to a place by the fire.

"I'll stand," he said, aware of the hearth and sliding his hand from her shoulder to the mantle. She chastised herself for her silly sense of abandonment.

Away from him, Jessica tried to regard him critically. Tall and solidly built, he was too handsome by half; too haughty, likely spoiled by his station in life and by women, too. Adoring females included his mother who expressed unmitigated pride in this son. Jessica continued evaluating as his mother filled the silence.

"I was just asking Jessica how she felt. I a.s.sured her you would make recompense for the mishap this morning."

Seeing the look of chagrin on his marvelous face, Jessica burst from her reverie to laugh lightly. "How is he to atone for my abas.e.m.e.nt, Your Grace?" She threw a lazy glance his way only to see his expression darken at her choice of words. Surely he did not think he had done her any real injury. She needed to heighten the jest to show him she bore him no malice. She giggled, a sound she hoped he would interpret as lightheartedness. "Shall we fit him with a collar and a leash and allow me to lead him about for a time?" Jessica punctuated her taunt with another laugh. "A little subservience might benefit the man."

The dowager's low chuckle, mingled with Jessica's tinkling laughter, prodded him. He leaned closer to the girl and spoke in a low voice. "If it's a collar for me, then perhaps we can manage a muzzle for you, little fox."

Her breath caught, indicating his words startled her, as he intended. Giggling, she placed a hand on his forearm. Her laughter coupled with the gesture, appeased him. He could not control the smile that spread from his heart to his face.

"Perhaps I exaggerated my injury," she said, laughter trilling in her voice. She turned to his mother to prevent her speaking of it again. "Please, Your Grace, what matter did you come to discuss?"

The dowager looked from Jessica's imploring face to Devlin's half smile, and yielded.

"If you feel well enough." She cast a quick, meaningful glance at Devlin. "We have an idea to discuss with you. Is that agreeable, Devlin?"

He shrugged, giving tacit approval without speaking.

Chapter Sixteen.

Jessica tried to lie still, listening to Sophie snoring softly on her cot at the far side of the room. She wished she might join her maid in that world of dreams, a place where a scullery maid-turned-lady could go for solace. As she lay listening, Jessica's angst increased.

She needed to tell someone about possible danger to Devlin, then she needed to leave, return to Welter and her mother. To John Lout. To her duties in the scullery at Maxwell Manor. There she could no longer hurl accusations against Fry or Hardwick or Lattimore Miracle.

How, her conscience begged, could she walk away from the safest haven she had ever known? How could she surrender the hot baths, clean sheets on soft beds, marvelous food and wardrobe? There was the money, too, as if she could allow Devlin to pay for luxuries a girl such as herself should never have known.

She pushed off the covers. If she were honest, it was not sweetness of life holding her. It was sightless blue eyes that reflected the skies when he smiled or laughed and, occasionally, the storms gathering over the sea when he was annoyed, or when he touched her.

She sat, stood, and shuffled to the door, grabbing a wrapper to cover the sheer night rail, one of those Sophie laid out for her to wear each night. Her hair hanging loose was an annoyance. She stepped to the vanity and fastened the unruly tresses back with combs.

Soundlessly, she lifted the latch and slipped into the corridor, easing the door closed behind her, then drew a breath.

This was not the beginning of her flight. No, this was just an outing. She would need to plan and prepare for the longer journey. No female would set off in clothing as scant as that she wore.

She slipped her arms into the wrapper's sleeves, lapped the sides and secured the tie at her waist.

The chatter of birds antic.i.p.ating the dawn encouraged her as she traversed the long walkway, ran down the stairs, and turned to cut through Devlin's study to access the yellow rose garden, her favorite. There sweet smells and gentle breezes mingled behind a north wall. Recently someone had placed a bench where a wanderer might enjoy the sunlight or even sit protected from a light rain. She was grateful for the foresight of that person.

Inhaling the crisp night air, she squinted down at unopened buds of a bush she had planted with her own two hands. She had been watching the addition for signs it was satisfied in its new home. She knelt and, with cautious fingers, touched the new growth.

"Yes," she whispered. "I knew you would like it here."

A familiar voice spoke quietly, as if trying not to startle her, as it did precisely that.

"What are you approving with sweet murmurs out here this time of day, Jessica?"

She stumbled to her feet and whirled, fumbling with her sash to make sure her covering was secure. "Oh, Your Grace, I apologize most sincerely. I did not imagine anyone might be here so early." She began backing toward the door.

His smile was scarcely visible in the predawn darkness, but she could see the gleam of his teeth as he emerged from the shadows.

"This garden may be small, but I believe it can accommodate two visitors at one time." His voice sounded of suppressed laughter.

"Yes, I suppose it can." She peered at him, entertaining a new thought. "Unless one is at his prayers or seeking privacy."

"Were you?"

"What, Your Grace?"

"At your prayers, kneeling and whispering."

She rewarded his guess with a little laugh. "No. I was speaking encouragement to the buds, Your Grace. I suppose praising a flower is a prayer of sorts. A compliment to its Creator."

"The one who planted it?"

She laughed again. "No. The originator."

His quiet laughter joined with hers. She squinted into the darkness trying to make out his face. "Have you sight this morning, Your Grace?"

"Devlin. Call me by my Christian name, Jessica."

"I do not think familiarity shows proper regard for your station, particularly in front of our - that is, your - staff."

"Are any members of the household present now?"

"No, no one else seems to be up."

"Then, if you please."

"Devlin."

"Yes. Thank you for your interest, Nightingale, I do have sight this morning."

A smile spread her face just as the playful breeze teased one unruly ringlet from its hastily affixed anchor to drop over her forehead, giving her a mischievous look.

"A miracle is a grand way to begin a new day," she said, and noticed that he looked both pleased and amused, like a youth not yet burdened with a man's responsibilities. A broad smile broke his wondrous features, turning his into the most beautiful face she had ever seen.

"Nightingale, on some subjects you have the wisdom of Solomon. On others, you remain hopelessly naive."

She couldn't help returning his smile, in spite of the little vexation she felt at his words. "To what are you referring?"

"Your lack of knowledge about men."

"I have a brother and had a father, Your ... Devlin. I've had opportunity to study the male of the species and his behavior. Of course, I have been around villagers, men in Welter, all my life. In what way does my training appear lacking?"

Devlin's smile waned. "What experiences have you had with the men of Welter?"

"I have grown up with some, talked and laughed and done business with others. I've been friends with several and have made genuine effort to endure others."

"What kind of behavior is required to endure men in Welter?"

She tried to fathom what she had said to have darkened his mood so.

"Well, when I am making effort, I try to be respectful and not talk more than necessary so as not to annoy them. I make it a point to be meticulously honest in my business dealings, in selling my hens and eggs." She arched her brows. "Of course, I feel compelled to call the grocer to task when he puts a thumb on the scale weighing out flour or sugar. I insist a merchant be as meticulously honest with me as I am with him. Sometimes I am required to prompt his honesty with rather a terse reminder." She hesitated. "That doesn't happen as often now as it once did."

The smile again bowed the duke's broad mouth. "The merchants being .... ?"

"The grocer and the fish monger, occasionally the smithy."

"Are these married men?"

Her frown deepened. "The grocer's wife died last June. I believe he is out of mourning. The monger smells too bad to woo a proper wife, and the smithy is too hairy. I have suggested he wear more clothing to conceal some of that hair if he hopes to win a bride."

"Did the smithy take your advice?"

"Yes, for a while, until he began attracting ladies whose interest he did not want."

"Were you one?"

"Great heavens, no!" She laughed incredulously.

"Did the smithy solicit your interest?"

"Not that I noticed. He has always been kind."

"As you grew, did you notice men being kinder and more meticulously honest with you?"

She puckered her lips. "I had not realized it myself until you asked."

"Perhaps, while you are in my care, Nightingale, I should teach you about the thinking of men."

She glanced back at her blooms. "Perhaps I might repay the kindness by teaching you something of flowers."

"But not about women?"

She heard the teasing tone in his voice. "I know you to be well instructed on that subject. Judging the way women behave around you, I doubt you have been denied many secrets by ladies of your acquaintance, Your Grace."

She stooped to pull bits of gra.s.s and weeds sprouting among her flowers, becoming more visible with the dawn. She did not feel threatened when the duke moved closer.

"You see, Nightingale, it is not wise for a young woman to make herself available to a man alone, in the predawn hours of morning."

She giggled and blurted, as if speaking to the bud she was examining. "Of course, if we had observed a silly rule like that when we met, you might have perished."

"Yes, well, there are exceptions, of course, but, perhaps it is not wise for a young woman, particularly one as attractive as you ... "