Chapter Twenty-Six

A Promise of Love

“Wait for me,” said Wolferton. Not sure what possessed him, he felt it his solemn duty to show Jaclyn the error of romantic notions when one of the two parties lacked sincerity. The irksome arousal during their passionate interlude drained every ounce of control, for he wanted her then and there, as much as he sensed her want of him. The only exception was, she didn’t understand love, sex, or bed-sport required a satisfaction for both parties. He had this troublesome jealousy of all other men. His sister was correct in her assertion no man in existence could qualify as Jaclyn’s husband.

In all truth, he enjoyed his hours in the country with her. His naked imagination took flight since this was only the start of all his plans to dissuade Jaclyn from any further infatuation with Halifax. And this suited as a goal for the moment.

Wolferton caught up with her. She seemed annoyed, as he expected. So he walked along in silence, hands clasped behind his back, prepared to speak when necessary. The absence of words in some ways offered the opportunity for further thought on his part.

“Is the large glass-domed building your conservatory?”

“Yes, my great-great grandfather had it constructed during the war to assure food would be available for sustenance to his tenants, and flowers for their natural fragrance and beauty. A connoisseur of all nature’s bounty, he appreciated their value.”

He gathered her closer. “This structure has the perfect climate for my black roses. I confess the arborist tells me he believes he has conquered the formula so we may grow them for sale to elite florists in London. Wouldn’t it be grand? It would lend a profit to all other estate ventures.” He took her hand. “Come inside, and let me show you.”

Wolferton led Jaclyn through the door where there were young trees, palms, florals, and, of course, his roses.

“Do you spend a lot of time here?” she asked, her head turned upward to the glass ceiling.

“No, when I first inherited, most of my time was spent in London with the barristers and bankers who guided me in the operation of the dukedom. I made brief visits here as the heir, but my memories are of my childhood. I’ve been remiss. However, because of those same memories, I will spend more time here.”

“I can see how your inheritance also became a burden. You continue to amaze me.” She shared a smile with him.

“My Jaclyn, my dearest desire is for your happiness in our days here.” He pouted and focused his gaze away from her sweet face. How had he made such a slip to call her My Jaclyn again? He’d have to exercise restraint. After all, she did say she had a particular husband in mind. Damn Halifax. If he was her chosen one, it would lead to disaster.

“Tomorrow, we start our riding lessons. Shall we move to the stables so you can see the horses?”

She sighed.

“Are you tired? We can delay the tour.”

Jaclyn fidgeted, her foot grated on the cement floor. “No, I’m in awe of you and your majesty. I don’t mean in the royal peer sense, but you have a regal demeanor. It makes me privileged to know you.”

Her words were what he needed to hear. It meant she’d forgiven him for the moral lesson, and they could go on as before. Except his good intentions disappeared like leaves in a strong wind, and all he could think of was to hold her naked in his arms. He shooed away the thought of predestined myths.

“You wouldn’t say so if you heard me bark orders to the soldiers under my command. In those days, I would have gladly exchanged places with those who died. I no longer feel that way.”

“Why do you always speak of death when you have so much for which to live? You are loved by many.”

The expression on her face rang true, and he guessed her concern, but was it only for him as her guardian?

“Am I? I have no one but Camille and you, and no inclination for a wife and children.” He cast his glance into the distance for the lie uttered. He could envision a blue-eyed red-haired boy in play around the stables in a show of his prowess to a violet-eyed sister with the sun’s glow on raven-colored curls.

“I have a lot of regrets, but it is natural for one such as me,” his voice trailed.

But soon she’d have someone else to protect her and someone to love with whom to have children. Damn, why did the thought screech through his heart?

He knew the answer and ignored it. Jaclyn was forever. He was just for a moment until she reunited with the man she loved. Those thoughts wrenched his gut more than any moment in battle. Could he change her mind? He had the ability to ignore other women’s flirtations, but all Jaclyn had to do was bat her eyelashes and curl a dimpled smile on her chin. Her unique mole was something he wanted to kiss…again. Oh, how he wanted to experience such sweet euphoria.

The groom master hailed him with a warm voice. “Yer Grace, ’tis good to see ye. How long will ya stay in residence? Perhaps fer good?”

He broke all convention and shook the man’s hand. Morgan had been in his regiment, and after the war when jobs were scarce. Wolferton employed any veteran who came to his door, so they worked here in the country where the air was healthy and the food in generous supply. He also knew he could trust them to be honest and true.

He pointed to Jaclyn, who raised her hand to shield the glint of sun. “This lady is my ward, Miss Moreux. In fact, you would remember her father, Captain Henri Moreux? She’s his daughter.”

“Miss Moreux, pleased to meet ye. Yer father was a grand person. To think yer his lass warms me heart.”

Her attention captured, a transformation claimed her as she looked from the groom to the duke. She jumped up and down, her hands settling her skirts. Locking her gaze to his, her grin became broad and effervescent. To see her enjoyment touched him with such deep desire to please and grant her every wish.

“Perhaps you will be able to tell me stories of you and my father? I know so little, although His Grace has written over the many years to extol his feats.” She turned to Wolferton. “You will allow him to spend some time from his duties, won’t you, duke? Please, I can’t believe how excited I feel. I miss him so.”

“I don’t see a problem. Perhaps we can share a lunch with Morgan and others who served in our regiment. I’ll see to arrangements, but for the moment, I’d like to teach Miss Moreux how to ride a horse. Do you have a three-year-old filly that is on the safe side? Or perhaps it would be better to have an older horse well accustomed to riders? We’ll start out in the morning.”

The groom master addressed Jaclyn, “Will eleven o’clock suit ye?”

To see the animation on her adorable face pleasured Wolferton. It confirmed he’d made the right decision to come to the country. Also, Halifax wouldn’t dare show his presence here. The thought caused him to smile.

Morgan walked them through the stables and pointed out a mare soon to give birth. Wolferton made it clear he wanted to attend no matter the time of day or night. The groom nodded.

“I don’t know about you, Jaclyn, but I’m famished. Let’s find some food. As a lad of eight years, I always foraged in the kitchen. The staff there loved me because I was always hungry.” His robust laugh beamed toward her.

****

Jaclyn smiled at his impish remark. How sad to feel so unloved. She recognized Wolferton brought back to life his happiness as a young boy. Then it came to mind his kiss was more than a moral lesson for her, but one for him too. To walk away from what he desired showed great character. This man who had everything, in truth did not have the one material relationship he needed—a companion in love with him, a faithful wife, and children. From discussions with Camille, whatever changed was in his formative teenage years.

Hand in hand, they walked along the path back to the kitchens. Jaclyn marveled how he put them at ease with his boyish grin. “Good late morning to you. Perchance, you have some cheese and bread for two weary travelers? Make it three if you fetch my sister.”

He introduced Jaclyn and then sat at the harvest bench table, informally dressed, his legs spread apart in a magnificent display of firm muscled thighs, not to mention his white lawn shirt showed an expressive expanse of glinted red hair. Heaven, he took her breath away. She couldn’t help admire all his physical power in one marvelous body. He pointed to a seat next to him for her to sit.

“Yer Grace, we did not expect ye. Give us a moment to find suitable food.”

“Bessie, my sweet, is it you? You’ve grown into a full-blown female. Tell me, do you still make berry preserves? I haven’t tasted anything like yours in all my travels on the continent.”

“Yer Grace…”

“Make sure I get to taste the jam, and you can call me whatever you wish. Duke will be fine. I’m in a good mood today. By the way, I apologize for my lack of a jacket, but it was too warm for my city super-fine wool.”

“Sir, stop yer joshing. You shouldna call me your sweet in front of the pretty lady the way you used to for an extra portion of dessert. You might make her jealous. You know yer the duke now.”

Jaclyn replied with the loveliest smile she could display, “Miss Bessie, you have my word I won’t be jealous. I am the duke’s ward, Jaclyn Moreux. My talents could never compare with yours. Perhaps tomorrow I could spend time in the kitchen with you to learn to make biscuits? My late father always said ‘if love is an ingredient you can trust a woman to make fine biscuits.’”

The glow from Bessie’s face could light the coals in the fireplace, and it delighted Jaclyn to bring a touch of joy to the elder lady.

A servant came forth with freshly baked bread, sliced it, and placed it on three plates. The favored jam was served in a pottery bowl with a cover and spoon.

“You’ve made a friend for life, Miss Jaclyn.” Wolferton smacked his lips together.

Soon, a footman appeared with a plate of sliced beef, root vegetables, and gravy. The aroma would tempt the devil.

His sister soon joined them, and at the sight of the vegetables, Jaclyn thought Camille would swoon. “Oh, my, what memories this brings back. Radolf, you already have streaks of jam on your cheek like when you were a boy. ”

He repeated in emphasis, “Like when I was an innocent young boy.”

“You’re no longer a boy. You’ve grown into a fine man. I have it on good authority.” Camille giggled, took a napkin, and wiped at his berried face.

“And who is knowledgeable enough to make such a statement?” Her brother took the serviette from her and rubbed jam away but managed to squeeze her hand in the process.

“Your sister, for one. I know you better than you know yourself,” Camille said in a jovial voice.

The change from the unhappy, stern, disciplined duke to this handsome, playful man astounded Jaclyn. She wished with all her heart they would never have to return to London and all the pain it represented for him. The urge to take him in her arms and whisper in his ear tempted. My arms will keep you safe from harm. Come into them, my darling man. My darling Radolf.

Perhaps she and Camille could convince him to stay here for a few weeks. Or would he claim business responsibilities and any other excuse to return to the city to become his former self?