The Duke’s Directive (Heirs & Heroes #4)

Chapter 1

One

An hour ago, Jane’s father grumbled something about funerals and sunny days as he placed his tall black hat on his head.

He left for the church with her grandfather.

Jane thought mid-May sunshine exactly what her mother would wish for on the day she was ‘‘laid to rest,” as her governess had called the funeral.

The governess instructed Jane and her sisters to sit quietly and think of their mother and brother while their father went to the funeral they were not permitted to attend.

Left alone in the parlor draped with black crepe, Jane wished to do something other than stare out the window, dressed in a stiff black dress that itched from being dyed only yesterday, for the hours father would be gone.

Mother would sigh at the sight of her sitting so forlorn.

Jane hurried upstairs, careful not to make a sound.

Minutes later, dressed in the pale pink dress her mother gifted her on her birthday six weeks ago, Jane stood in the center of her mother’s rose garden, looked up at the sky, and twirled. “I love you, Mama!”

Would Mother see her from heaven, as her sister Phil insisted she would?

She repeated the phrase over and over again as she spun faster and faster. Sunshine warmed her face, and Jane closed her eyes, feeling her mother’s love surround her.

“Cease!” Sir Lightwood yanked Jane’s arm, forcing her to stop. The sleeve of her dress ripped with a loud pop.

Why was Father so angry?

“You devil’s child!” Father shook her by the arm so violently Jane wondered if her arm might not come off like Rose’s dolls had. “You are to be in mourning for your mother and brother! Have you no decorum? Do you have no love for them?”

Jane’s teeth banged together, biting her tongue. Blood filled her mouth.

“Speak!”

Words refused to form around the taste of blood and her swelling tongue.

Tears filled Jane’s eyes. If only she could explain to her father that she was thinking of Mama, wearing the dress Mama said was her favorite, and sending her love to Heaven where Mama and William looked down on her.

She loved William, too. Just not as much because he was always trying to get her twin, George, to play with him and leave Jane behind.

Father let go of her arm. Jane rubbed her left shoulder with her hand. She did not see the slap coming. Never in her life had anyone raised a hand to her. The impact knocked her to the ground.

“There, now you have something to cry about, you stupid girl. Of all my daughters, you are the biggest disappointment. Why did I ever let your mother choose your name? I should have named you Paulina or Davida so you would have backbone like your sisters. At least Rose is a pretty name for a pretty girl.” Father bent down and spoke directly into her face.

With one hand, he held her by the chin, pinching her cheeks together as he did so. Blood seeped through her lips and dribbled down the front of her beautiful dress. Tears she could no longer hold back ran down her cheeks.

Father’s face twisted into the look he so often wore when he spoke of the idiots in parliament. “Plain Jane suits you. A plain Jane you shall remain, for no man will ever trouble himself to look at you twice and I will be forced to bear the burden of a girl no one could ever love.”

Grabbing her by both arms, he pulled Jane into a standing position and slapped her again.

Phil gasped. Only then did Jane notice the presence of her sister and her governess.

Father turned his wrath on the governess. “Change this urchin into something suitable for mourning. Then pack your bags. If you cannot even keep my daughters in line for a day such as this, I have no use for you!”

He thrust Jane at the governess with such force that Jane stumbled and would have fallen if Phil had not caught her.

“And for you, Philippa, I am disappointed that you did not stress the need for decorum in mourning. If I ever see Jane dressed in an inappropriate color again, you will feel my hand as well.”

Jane hurried away with Phil and the governess; vowing Father would never hurt Phil or any of her other sisters as she had been hurt. Mother would not be happy.

The next morning, suitably dressed in black, Jane hurried from the house with her twin sister. Father’s voice carried through the open windows as he yelled at the steward. It would be some time before he would note their absence.

Jane’s shoulder still ached from yesterday’s encounter with Father. She did not cradle her arm lest George notice as she led the way to one of the twin’s favorite places, the kennels. Cook had told them over breakfast that there were new puppies.

George slowed her pace on the path. “Did Cook say how many puppies there were?”

“No. You were sitting right there. She only said a litter had been born yesterday.”

“No need to be cranky.”

“I am not.” Jane did not mean to be short with her sister, but she hurt not only in the shoulder, but in her heart.

She wanted to cry, but George never cried.

So she could not either. Not for Mother, not for William, and definitely not for the pink dress that father ordered to be burned in the grate.

Then there was Alex, their oldest sister, who still lived, but barely.

Not only did they not cry for her, but they barely spoke of her.

Grandfather said she was expected to live, before he returned to The Willows yesterday after the funeral, insisting he needed to be at his residence to care for his injured granddaughter.

Out of breath from their run, they came to the kennel where Kellmore’s huntsman stood with Mr. Conroy from the neighboring estate, looking into the whelping pen.

The huntsman saw them first. “Miss Georgiana, Miss Jane. Did ya come to see the wee pups?”

“Yes, may we?” asked George.

“Ye can look, but do not touch them yet.” Mr. Conroy was the best keeper of the hounds for miles. He worked for Lord Godderidge but often shared his expertise with others.

“Yes, Mr. Conroy.” Jane answered in unison with her twin.

The pink-nosed puppies yipped and grunted around their mother.

George pointed to the largest one as he pushed his way to his mother to eat. “Look at his spots. I bet he will be the best of the lot.”

The tiniest puppy Jane had ever seen struggled to regain the spot he lost to his larger sibling. Another pup kicked the little one in the face trying to get to its mother’s milk. “What about that one? His brothers and sisters will not let him eat.”

Mr. Conroy leaned closer. “That one be the runt, Miss.”

“What is a runt?” asked Jane.

“The wee mite ’tis the smallest of the lot, and weakly besides. Likely will not live out the week,” said the huntsman.

“He is going to die?” Tears blurred Jane’s vision. She blinked them back lest George see her cry over a dog.

“Likely.” Mr. Conroy’s confirmation did nothing to soothe Jane.

She turned and grabbed the man’s sleeve. “You cannot let him die, too. You are the best keeper of the hounds in all of England. Everyone says so.”

Mr. Conroy looked at the huntsman. Jane watched as they spoke rapidly in their heavily accented English, only catching a few words. “Goat, cow, Lightwood, work.”

Mr. Conroy knelt next to Jane to be at her eye level. “It’s a vera difficult thing you ask, Miss, but we are willin’a try. I will need your help. Every day. Can you do that?”

Jane looked to George, who answered for them. “Father does not always let us leave the house.”

Mr. Conroy scratched his chin and looked to the huntsman, who nodded. “Vera, well, come as much as ye can. We will be the wee runt’s mama. We are going to feed him the best goat’s milk we can. He must be fed every two hours.”

“Even in the middle of the night?” asked George.

The huntsman put a hand to his heart. “That be my job why the wee misses sleep.”

“I will be here. Every time I can.” Jane would not let the animal die. There would be no more deaths at Kellmore Manor.

The huntsman scooped up the little pup and placed him in Jane’s hands. “If’n you are going to be the wee thing’s mum you best name him. A good strong name. None of those silly names like Spot.”

Having just finished a book on King Author, Jane did not hesitate. “His name is Sir Galahad.”