Chapter Three
A butler magically appeared to throw the door wide in welcome. Janice was never so ready to cross a threshold. The duke and his friends came behind her, and then the hounds. When the door finally shut, sealing the scoundrel groom out, she breathed a sigh of relief. She could focus on why she was here—and then she remembered she wouldn’t be here long.
Her heart sank fast to her feet. And she knew it was because once the roads cleared she would be sent back to London.
But at least now she was warm. And somehow the hodgepodge of a décor, faded but still dignified—from the suit of armor in the corner to the tall case clock ticking laboriously at the base of the staircase to the ancient hat stand—spoke to her. The home seemed ducal in the noblest sense of the word, achieving an air that overlooked mere pomp in favor of depth and substance.
Perhaps Halsey was the same way. She hoped so. She’d forgive him his self-importance outside in the snow, as well as his apparent indifference to her. What duke didn’t feel important? And as for his lack of interest in her, perhaps he was wise to maintain his distance. For all he knew, she—like the other women who’d come before her to Halsey House—was after him, and if she followed her parents’ wishes he’d be correct.
Embarrassed at the very idea of scheming to win a man she didn’t know, especially a duke, she stared upward at the house’s beams and rich, well-worn tapestries hung on its high walls. Welcome, it seemed to say. I have stories to tell, great and small. A slant of light from the transom above the front door fell on a crystal vase on the massive sideboard, throwing little diamonds over the black-and-white tile floor.
She might not be Irish, like Daddy, but she was fey in her own way. She got a sure impression that much laughter had echoed through this home’s spaces at one time or another, that abundant love had flowed as copiously as wine at a wedding.
She had a sudden wish that one of the house’s stories would be hers.
But it won’t be, she reminded herself. You’re leaving.
As soon as the roads cleared and her wheel was fixed. It would be a week at most. And it was a good thing. His Grace, his friends … they didn’t want her here. She could tell.
She tried not to think of the way Mr. Callahan had kissed her, as if he wanted her very much.
From somewhere far away on the next floor, several women could be heard chatting and laughing. The duke looked sharply up at the top of the wide staircase and then directed his butler to send the housekeeper to the drawing room straightaway. “Tell her that until Lady Janice’s maid has had an opportunity to put away her things or Mrs. Friday arrives, she’ll serve as Lady Janice’s chaperone.” The duke looked to her. “I’m going to tell my grandmother myself you’re here. I’ll see you in a few minutes. Meanwhile, don’t wait. The tea tray should be ready.”
“Very well, Your Grace.”
Daddy would be so glad that His Grace was a stickler for the proprieties.
Luke Callahan, Janice was sure, had completely misjudged the duke, but she’d forgive the groom for maligning his employer so. She knew too well how difficult it was to be looked down upon. Servants met with glaring lapses in kindness toward them every day, and resentments, naturally, could grow very heated.
“My other houseguests should appear any moment,” His Grace added. “I’m sure they’re anxious to meet you.”
Before she could reply, he bowed and left her with his cohorts. She really preferred to go straight to her room to unpack first and clean off her travel dirt, but how could she say no to her host? He had a way of speaking that was different from everyone else of her acquaintance—as if he never second-guessed himself but always assumed everyone would do his bidding. And he was deucedly unapologetic about that fact.
It was entirely mortifying, really, to be left alone with Halsey’s two friends, neither of whom looked at her with any real warmth in their eyes. She understood why the highly eligible duke was on the defensive. But these two?
They had no excuse.
But Janice refused to surrender to the awkward situation. A footman led them to a vast space filled with oil paintings of horses. There were bold red accents everywhere: in the fabrics, on the vases, and even on the china on the tea tray. The dogs had collapsed before the fire.
It was a man’s drawing room.
It needs a woman’s touch, she couldn’t help thinking as she took a seat by a low table, where the teapot sat at the ready. She hoped Isobel and Oscar would get their own tea very soon, but they probably hadn’t yet. Isobel would soon be upstairs with Janice’s trunks. And Oscar would no doubt go to the stables to the horses.
She must admit, she even hoped Mr. Callahan would get his tea, although she shouldn’t care whether he did or not. She wouldn’t think of his shapely legs or broad shoulders, nor would she think of the way he’d kissed her, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. She must remind herself that she had many misgivings about him, however glorious a masculine specimen he was.
The housekeeper, an older woman with a large bosom and a kindly face, glided in. “Don’t mind me, my lords and my lady,” she said quietly.
“Thank you.” Janice felt as if she’d put out the entire household with her arrival.
Isobel liked to take her time putting away Janice’s things, so unless Mrs. Friday arrived soon, the poor housekeeper would have to ignore her regular duties. She took a seat near the window and opened a small book that she pulled from her apron.
Lord Yarrow, whose face was long and his nose markedly hooked beneath his jet-black hair, sat opposite Janice. “So you’re Brady’s stepdaughter by his second marriage?” His voice carried that tonnish ennui that she so despised.
“Yes.” She poured him a cup of tea. “Although my parents make no distinction between siblings. We’re all one happy family.”
“Happy? Is that so?” Predictably, the older, rounder Lord Rowntree didn’t sound terribly interested as he flung out his tails and took his own seat on a red silk settee. He had silver sideburns and a strong cleft in his chin.
“It is so.” Janice handed him a brimming cup, too.
“Your older sister is very beautiful.” Lord Yarrow gazed at her with open curiosity, as if he hoped she’d react strongly.
But he’d be disappointed. Janice was used to hearing such compliments about her sister, and contrary to what everyone assumed, she was quite proud to be related to Marcia.
“Yes,” Janice said, “she’s the most beautiful woman in Town, apart from Mama. Of course”—she smiled—“I’m most prejudiced in their favor.”
Janice felt a strong longing to retreat to her room and crawl into bed with a good book, not make small talk with these world-weary fellows who were the last men on earth she’d ever want to marry. They certainly didn’t stand out the way the duke did—
Or Luke Callahan.
Oh, dear. Him again. She added two lumps of sugar to distract herself. His Grace, she told herself sternly, was the man she should be thinking of. Yes, he was intimidating and indifferent to most of the rest of the world, but he acted as a duke should.
Yet … that wasn’t nearly as memorable as a groom acting as a duke should.
It was shocking and inappropriate, how Mr. Callahan behaved.
But fascinating nonetheless.
Janice restrained a sigh and looked over her own dish of tea to see Lord Rowntree cross one leg over the other, and the words Mr. Callahan’s thighs popped into her head. An instant rush of warmth to the apex of her own thighs ensued, followed by a strong dose of guilt that made her temples pound. She drank a sip of tea and wondered if she was a wanton or merely prone to outlandish daydreams.
Mama would be appalled either way.
Janice was grateful to hear more feminine laughter and the muted sounds of many feet on the stairs. The men paused in their conversation just as three women came into the room, all of them elegantly attired but looking rather hastily put together. Sleepy, even. It was quite a shock this late in the day.
“Sorry we’re late,” said the first young woman in a strong American accent. “We stayed up past midnight … reading novels.” Dressed in a plum muslin gown and with a mess of black curls framing her dainty face, she gave a giant yawn and plopped down next to Lord Rowntree. “I’m Lilith Branson of Boston,” she said, and extended a hand to Janice.
For the briefest moment, Janice stared at it, not quite sure what to do. So she put down her cup and held her hand out, too. Miss Branson gripped her palm and shook it hard. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you.” Janice was excited to meet someone new. It was a rare thing to see an American socialite, especially one as bold and friendly as Miss Branson. “I’m Lady Janice Sherwood. My father is the Marquess of Brady.”
“I’ve heard much of your sister Lady Chadwick,” said another young lady in a rather dated yellow silk gown. She had brown hair and bright green eyes. “I’m Lady Opal, and this is my sister, Lady Rose.”
“Pleased to meet you both.” Janice smiled, happy they had each other. She knew the value of sisters and suddenly missed her own.
Rose was freckle faced, with strawberry blonde hair, and wore a soft blue gown that Janice could swear had nearly threadbare sleeves, although she wouldn’t gaze upon them long enough to find out.
Despite the sad state of their gowns, the sisters, with their wide-set eyes, were equally pretty. Neither outshone the other. And Miss Branson was attractive, too. She had dimples on either side of her heart-shaped mouth and a pert nose.
Janice poured them each a cup of tea. “Were you invited here by the dowager, as well?” she asked with sympathy. Perhaps they’d been caught in an awkward situation, too. It would explain their lack of chaperone. They were certainly of an age to require one.
The two men watched them all as if attending a play.
“Oh, no.” Lilith gave a hearty laugh. “I came on my own. I’d read about the Duke of Halsey’s stables. I’ve got my own back home. I figured he wouldn’t mind a visit from an American heiress with a know-how for horses.” She winked. “Don’t tell my father. He thinks I’m over here visiting a boarding-school friend in London.”
Janice was shocked but tried not to show it.
“And we’re on our way further north,” explained Lady Rose with a sweet smile, “to our aunt’s house in Manchester.”
“Our late mother knew the duke’s mother,” said Lady Opal. “We stopped to pay our regards.”
“I see,” said Janice, trying her best to be understanding. But they mentioned nothing of an invitation, either.
“Our usual companion was ill when we left our home in Kent,” Lady Rose said. “She should be arriving any day now. As soon as she does, we’ll make our way north again.”
“This companion of theirs must be very ill,” Lilith said to Janice. “They’ve been here a month.”
Lady Rose’s brow puckered. “And you’ve been here three weeks, have you not?”
“That I have.” Lilith stared back at her and drank her tea down in one gulp as the men exchanged amused glances. “But if anyone told me I needed a chaperone, I’d tell them to jump in a lake. I’m rich, I’m American, and I do what I want.”
Good God, Janice thought. How marvelous that must be!
But she couldn’t get away from the fact that these women were highly questionable guests. Mama would be appalled that they were here. As for the men, from their poor manners alone Janice didn’t think much of them at all.
She’d seen Daddy struggle with problematic visitors, too. When one had a great deal of power and wealth, one attracted all sorts. Of course, if the Duke of Halsey had a wife these awkward social situations wouldn’t happen. His wife would see to it that the house was run properly, that guests were only of the invited sort, of excellent character, and assiduously looked after.
Poor, beleaguered duke. He needed to marry.
But Janice wasn’t to be a candidate for the position of duchess. A week wasn’t enough time to win a duke, surely, especially a duke who appeared to want one gone.
And she didn’t want him anyway.
Just as she finished that thought, the object of her musings swept into the room, fully in command, and very regally so.
“My grandmother was demanding the crown jewels,” the duke said, “which I, of course, couldn’t give her. She had to be satisfied with the cup of tea I poured her instead.”
It was a sad situation. And Janice couldn’t help thinking that he was a thoughtful grandson.
“You do your best with her, Halsey,” Lord Rowntree said on a sigh.
“Yes, you do, Your Grace.” Lady Rose batted her eyes at him. “Any woman would love to drink a cup of tea you poured.”
His Grace brushed off the compliments and made sure Janice had been properly introduced to everyone before he sat next to her and observed her with a quiet, confident gaze. “You play the pianoforte, I suppose.”
It was a bald statement, but she was becoming used to his style of speaking—as if her answers didn’t matter and he was merely being polite.
“Yes, I do play. Passably.” She was quite good, actually, but she got very nervous playing in front of anyone who wasn’t a family member.
His Grace accepted the cup of tea she poured him. “I assume you sing as well.”
“Yes, I suppose I do.” She loved to sing. Mama had told her she had one of the most beautiful voices she’d ever heard. Yet Janice was terrified to sing in front of company, too, and never had beyond her immediate family.
Her host stirred his tea. “You’ll play and sing for us tonight after dinner.”
It wasn’t an invitation. It was a command. A very ducal one, at that.
Janice felt immediately queasy. “Yes, of course, Your Grace.”
It was the last thing she wanted to do. But he was the Duke of Halsey. What choice did she have? Especially as she was an uninvited guest, in her own way?
There was general conversation for a few minutes, desultory and quite proper, although Janice noticed an underlying tension in the room. But it could be coming from her. After all, she was the newest arrival at this unusual house party—because that was what this gathering apparently was.
Without warning, the duke stood. “I’ll show you round the house now, Lady Janice. The portrait gallery and the conservatory are particularly worth seeing. Your parents can’t have you return home without a few interesting details about the house to share.”
Return home.
She noticed how carelessly he’d injected those two words into his speech.
He probably assumed she’d be flattered that he was showing her so much attention, but it was entirely wrong of her to stroll about the house with him unchaperoned.
Just as it’s wrong of you to kiss a groom, a little voice in her head chided her.
“Shall—shall all your friends accompany us?” she asked him.
“I’ve already given them the tour,” His Grace returned easily.
“And an exciting one it was.” Lord Rowntree nodded, his wattle quivering.
“Indeed,” Miss Branson echoed him. “I look forward to hearing which portrait is your favorite, Lady Janice.”
Janice swallowed and smiled. “I suppose that will be all right.”
But it wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t. Mama might want Janice to capture the duke’s attention, but she wouldn’t want her to do anything inappropriate.
“Wait,” she found herself blurting out. “I can’t believe I forgot. I should see the dowager immediately, now that I’ve had my tea and an opportunity to warm up.” She also wanted to retreat to her room to refresh her toilette after her long day in the carriage, but no one seemed to notice she’d not been granted that basic courtesy.
A wife in residence would have noticed, of course.
“Granny’s not going anywhere,” the duke said mildly. “She’s sleeping at the moment, as it is.”
“Very well,” Janice conceded, with some regret. “However”—she looked down at her gown’s rumpled skirt—“I really should remove this travel dirt.”
“You can do that after the tour,” he replied. “You’ll have plenty of time before dinner.”
She was entirely flummoxed. Say no, she thought. Say you need a chaperone and that you need to change your gown!
And then she saw that the housekeeper had disappeared from her corner. Janice hated to make a scene and demand the woman be found and dragged along. Nor did she want to insist on calling Isobel down from her bedchamber. And if Janice demanded to change her gown, it might seem churlish in light of the duke’s efforts to be a good host.
“Well, my lady?” he asked her.
She looked into his alert amber eyes and decided that she was being silly. One little tour of the house … it was such an innocent thing. And he was obviously proud of it, the way a boy is proud when he lines up his tin soldiers.
Besides, he was a duke—a duke who was used to getting his way, as no doubt all dukes were.
“Y-yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, you’re right. Everything can wait until after the tour.”
She could do this. She could survive without a chaperone for a few minutes. His grandmother could wait, too, as could Janice’s travel dirt.
She took a step toward him to take his proffered arm, but the butler came to the door. “A note for Lady Janice,” he said, “from the stables.”
“Oh?” she said lightly. Oscar must need something. Perhaps it was her emergency flask of Daddy’s whiskey. Oscar had been in their employ so long, he was like family and would think nothing of making such a request if his own flask had run dry.
Relief flooded through her. She’d had a temporary reprieve from an awkward situation. Yet it was still a painful sensation to endure feeling all eyes upon her as she walked lightly past the duke and his friends and took the note from the butler’s outstretched hand.
Unfolding it, she read in a careless male scrawl: I found a dog outside the stables—she’s about to become a mother. You’ll want to see her.
It was signed only LC.
Luke Callahan, of course. The name should inspire indignation in Janice. And there he was presuming that he knew how she’d respond—just as the Duke of Halsey did.
But something warm wrapped around her heart. All her annoyance at the groom was temporarily forgotten. How did Mr. Callahan know—how could he have known that she loved strays so much?
There was only one answer to his question: Yes, she thought as she folded the note back up and made a brief excuse to the company.
And she meant it for so many different reasons.