Chapter 27 Katherine—Back to Business
KATHERINE—BACK TO BUSINESS
When I leave my bedchamber, the house is quiet. No noise comes from Jahleel’s room, either. For the past week, he has ended up in my bed or I have visited his. No matter the location, the same thing happens: I read, we kiss, and he sleeps.
Nothing more.
I rub my temples. A headache grows, the type that originates from frustration. What kind of mistress am I if I put my keeper to sleep?
Sometime before dawn, he left my chambers. We held each other and laughed about silly things. He didn’t have to go. I’m technically his mistress, his somewhat untouched mistress.
Is this an affair when nothing more is happening between us than hugs and kisses and literally sleeping in the other’s arms?
Pity. Jahleel is a good, sensual kisser. He’s good at everything. What has made him hesitant? Why is he being a perfect gentleman when I’d be perfectly content if he wasn’t?
A lady can’t express such thoughts, especially when she’s spent the last week evaluating lists of potential new spouses.
The woman in the reflecting glass wants many things, but not a new spouse.
An undated document on my vanity says Jahleel and I aren’t done.
I read his barrister’s papers again. We are still married until a signature and a date grace those pages.
I sigh, keep my chaotic desires to myself, and head down the corridor. I must think of char, top-notch coal, and meeting with Thom’s sons. William and Donald handle the routes well. No one has pelted them with anything.
In some small sense, Wilcox Coal gives them a needed mission. They’ve missed that since leaving the military.
With runners now following my drays, the young men are safe. Jahleel has done this, even though I told him he didn’t have to do a thing.
I almost turn back to the duke’s door to thank him, and maybe discuss our feelings and say the other things I want, when I spy him down the corridor. He’s fully dressed and standing at the top of the stairs. Cane in hand, he’s not moving.
His mouth quivers. He’s saying something or praying, but the tension in his arms radiates. I can feel it from here.
Something must be wrong.
As lightly as I can, I approach him. He’s mumbling.
Now I’m frightened. “Jahleel? Jahleel, give me your hand. I’ll take you back to bed.”
“Go, Katherine. I’m fine.”
He doesn’t look sick. He’s smartly dressed in a jet-tailed coat and his waistcoat with emerald threading, very different than the one I said I hated. His dark breeches and tasseled boots make his legs look strong.
“You’re dressed to go out, Jahleel. That’s good.”
“Yes. I intend to.”
“Where?”
“Doesn’t matter, Katherine. Not if I can’t go down the stairs.”
“Of course it matters.” I grasp his arm, the one that clings tightly to the railing. His other grips the handle of his cane like he thinks he’ll fall.
I rub his shoulder and get even closer. “Jahleel, tell me what’s wrong.”
“The stairs. I’ve been up and down them hundreds of times.”
“They are steep but let me help you or get Mr. Steele.”
“Nyet.” He says this but grips my hand tighter. “If I make it down these stairs, this is all true.”
“Jahleel, what are you talking about? What’s true?”
“That Lydia’s my daughter, and she’s happy.”
“Of course she is.” My tone sounds loud and confident. Maybe too loud, too confident. “And she loves you so.”
“Then that means that you and I are getting along. My mother hasn’t frightened you away. This is all true?”
“It’s true, Jahleel. All you’ve said has happened. Why would it not be?”
“Well, that’s what you want me to believe. In my dream, you were a rusalka. And you swallowed me whole.”
“A what?”
“A Medusa or a mermaid. You said anything to convince me.” His face is blank, but I know this look.
I remember it from when we returned from our wedding trip, when he rushed to see his sister. He didn’t know if she lived. “Jahleel, what if everything is not true?”
“Then I’m still in my bedchamber, lying in that bed dying.” He turns to me. “I’d rather have this dream. I’d rather live in this fantasy of us, of us and Lydia, than to know I’m still weak and fevered and never leaving that room.”
The emotion in his voice rips out my heart. I’ve been so fearful of how his sickness affects me that I forgot about him. The terror he must feel fighting to breathe. How does he remain calm, knowing he must fight an illness that wants to defeat him?
He wipes at his face and loses his balance for a moment.
I grab him by the lapels and kiss him.
Both his hands wrap around me.
Thud. His cane falls and tumbles away. Jahleel’s full weight is against me. He recovers and takes a slow step backward. “Can you get my cane? I’ll try the stairs tomorrow.”
“No. Let’s go down together. You’re awake. You’re recovering. I’m not lying. You … you’re not dying.”
“Katia, you’re strong, but we’ll struggle.”
“A little struggle is fine.” I dip under his arm so he can hold the stair rail and me at the same time. “Let’s go.”
The man doesn’t have a choice, because I start.
Jahleel’s forehead dampens. He bites his lip, and we take a step together. Then we rest.
His arm slides from my shoulder to my waist, a better placement. Our rhythm meshes, becoming stronger. We keep at this until there’s one step to go.
He pauses. “It was a great three weeks. The best in a long time.”
The poor man doesn’t believe me. “Just one more step, and you’ll know the truth.”
He nods and whispers in Russian words that sound like goodbye. His thumb traces my cheek. “It was the nicest dream.”
“Come on, Jahleel. Together.”
We take that last step. Our feet now touch the marble of the hall.
I stoop and give him his cane. “See, you are awake and recovering, Jahleel.”
His face remains blank. He starts down the corridor.
“Jahleel. Wait. Let’s go for a drive.”
He shakes his head. “The garden. I need to think.”
I rush to him and collect his arm. “I’ll go with you.”
“No. There are mums there. That’s no place for you.” He walks away.
I’m left stunned. Where’s the rapport we share on the upper floor?
Scarlett, with a book to her face, goes to the steps. She lowers it and looks up. After a quick look at me, she gazes from side to side. “He made it. The duke made it. Oh, good morning, Katherine.”
“Scarlett, you said the duke made it. What are you talking about?”
“The duke has this ritual about powering down the stairs. That’s how he knows he’s fully recovered.”
Oh, no.
Glancing down at the marble, I ask, “If someone helped him down or made him come down? What would happen?”
Her eyes grow wide. “Nooo.” She groans a very unladylike, un-Scarlett-like noise. “That’s how he builds his confidence. That would steal it.”
I can’t be a bigamist and a thief. “Oh, I need to apologize.”
She catches my arm. “No, sis. He’s gone to the garden. He likes solace, time alone to think. Now that he comes down, he might even go to his father.”
“Jahleel’s father is dead.”
“He’s interred in St. George’s.” Her tone sounds like a rebuke that I should know these things. “He probably went there after failing to stop your wedding to Tavis.”
My sister knows Jahleel better than I do. This shames me. No wonder she’s the princess’s favorite. “Scarlett, why does he need to be alone? And why does he have all these secretive grieving rituals?”
Snap. The big book in her hands closes. “Katherine, haven’t you been paying attention? This is who he is. He’s a man of rituals. I believe it keeps the duke focused on the things that he wants. It helps him manage the strain of his illness. It is a lot for one man.”
“You mean what I’ve done to him.”
She shrugs but at least doesn’t point her finger at me. “You’ve been difficult … but that has changed. You spend so much time together. Is he thick enough for you?”
“What? His weight. Yes, he gained weight.”
She winks at me. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
None of this feels right. “I didn’t want him to fall, and he seemed confused at the top of the stairs.” Again, I glance to the upper landing. He said all could change when he came down. “How do I let him know I have no intentions of disrupting his rituals or his life?”
“It’s a little late for the latter.” She heads me off in a direction other than the garden. “Katherine, let the duke have his moment. He’ll come back to you soon enough. It’s only a matter of time.”
Scarlett says this like she’s done something.
“Talk. Now. What do you know?”
She grins. “I put a little something extra in his tea, just like he wanted, but for you.”
My sister is too smart for her own good, but this sounds ominous. “What did you think I want?”
“The duke said you requested him thick. So I put gentian root to bolster his appetite for food. And a little angelica and a little wormwood to improve his appetite for you.”
“You did what?”
“A few herbs known as aphrodisiacs increase his desire. They improve blood flow, too.”
My mouth falls open. “You must stop that. That’s not what he … not what I meant.”
“It helps with blood flow.” Scarlett smiles big and says, “Thank me later for any additional benefits.” She saunters down the corridor. Our papa’s boots make such a clatter.
I don’t know if I should thank her, since the duke hasn’t become overwhelmed by any emotion except to flee.
The urge to go after Jahleel stirs. What is my excuse for thirsting for Jahleel?
I haven’t drunk any tea. How do I manage knowing that drinking an aphrodisiac isn’t enough to make him want me?