Chapter 3
JACK
Ihear Cecelia coming down the hall, her heels clipping on the wooden floor and pausing momentarily before she makes her dramatic entrance and opens both the doors that lead into my new gym room.
“Bernard would be rolling in his grave if he saw what you’d done to his orangery,” she tuts, standing in front of me, refusing to make eye contact and holding out a piece of paper.
“What's that?” I pick up the towel that's resting over my weight bench and hang it over my shoulders, gripping both ends tightly in my fist.
“Don’t tell me you're illiterate as well as obnoxious,” she snaps, and the smile I make as I take the paper from her hand and unfold it is as fake as her tits.
“It’s a list of all the renovations that are needed in my quarters,” she explains, trying to make herself assertive.
“Your quarters?” I stare back at her questionably.
“The living conditions aren’t acceptable, your father would—”
“I’ll have Alistair take care of it,” I interrupt her before she goes off a tangent, and just as she’s about to protest, she realises how reasonable I’m being and silences herself.
“Erm..ahh…And this ball you're having next week, I assume you have invited the Linchfords?”
“Everyone's invited,” I remind her, dreading the damn thing. I see the logic in Alex’s suggestion. Everyone is talking about me behind my back; I should take the opportunity to introduce myself, address the rumours so they can make their judgement of me on truth and not speculation.
“Speaking of the Linchfords, have you thought anymore about my suggestion?” She may have caught me in a good mood, but I’m not that fucking stupid.
“Annabella isn’t my type; besides, she was my brother’s fiancée, so she is sure to still be grieving.”
“Half-brother,” she reminds me with spite. “And it was your father's wish to unite our family with theirs.”
“But not for her to become the duchess of Fairfax,” I remind her. “If he wanted that, he would have tried convincing me to marry her.” I can see my words infuriate her, which, of course, was my intention.
“Well, you’ll have to marry someone. Your title comes with a responsibility; for hundreds of years, the Ravenshaws have lived here and carried that title, and you are going to–”
“Relax, Cece, I’ve got this.” I tap her shoulder and head out the back door towards the lawn for some fresh air.
The house may be big, but it’s stuffy, and the old walls feel like they are closing in on me.
I hate that Cecelia is right. I can’t let the lineage of our family end with me.
At some point, I’m going to need to consider having an heir.
But nothing I tell myself convinces me that I’ll ever like the idea of settling down.
I’m not against the idea of female company, I love it.
But being tied to one woman, for your whole life…
marriage? None of that shit has ever been on my bucket list. As for a child…
? That’s a little different. I’d like the opportunity to prove that I was different.
I always figured I’d never have a child, but knowing that having one has become a duty makes me want to do it right.
Being in this house, seeing traces of memories I should have been a part of, shouldn’t hurt me the way it does.
I’m not designed for that. My life’s been far too busy for me to stop and think, and suddenly, with all this free time, I can see myself going crazy.
I pace the patio, trying not to let what Cecelia just said get inside my head, and suddenly I see something rustling in the bushes, right at the bottom of the lawn.
The rustle stills, and I immediately start heading towards it.
My arrival at the estate seems to have attracted the attention of the media, and there have been more than one occasion where photographers have been removed for trespassing.
“Who’s behind there?” I call out as I approach, picking up the rake that’s resting against one of the trees as I continue heading down the path. I flip the thing so I can use it as a poking device as I approach the huge bush.
“You want a picture? Come on out and take it,” I call out, driving the handle among the thick branches. “Come on, out you come, no use hiding.” I strike again.
“Ouch…quit it, you psychotic prick!” I don’t expect to see a very pissed-off looking female crawl out from under the greenery, her hair all ruffled and tangled around leaves, and certainly don’t expect her to be so pretty.
I stare at her for way longer than I should, until she tilts her head, looking at me as if I’m the one who owes her an explanation.
“What the fuck are you doing hiding out here?” Placing the rake back on the ground, I rest both my hands on top of the handle and await her response.
“I…um. I was walking my dog, and it ran in this direction.” I can see immediately that the girl is lying; her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are searching her head for a quick, believable answer, and her voice is far too hesitant.
“This land is private, you're miles from the footpath,” I point out, letting her see that I’m not buying her bullshit, no matter how pretty she is.
“And if you have an unruly dog, you should be keeping it on a leash.” I step a little closer, because something about her seems to be drawing me in.
“What kind is it?” I ask, waiting to see the way her lips move again; the bottom one is much fuller than the top, and I can’t tell if the colour of them is natural or painted on.
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head, looking agitated. “The normal kind that people put on their dog when they walk it.” Frustration is a beautiful look on her; it makes me want to cause more of it.
“I meant the dog, not the leash.” I roll my tongue around my cheek as she realises her mistake, closes her eyes, and silently curses herself for it.
“How much would it be worth?” I ask, narrowing my eyes and reminding myself that no matter how attractive this girl is, she’s not to be trusted.
“The dog?” She looks up at me, confused, and I try to focus on being mad instead of admiring the colour of her hair as the sunlight shines through it.
“The photo you were taking, maybe we could come to an arrangement. I’m sure could give you something much more interesting than just me working out.”
“I’m sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about. I’m just looking for my dog.
” Her hands go up defensively, and when she moves to step away, instinct has me grabbing her arm to stop her.
Her fist comes out of nowhere, delivering a blow so heavy that it rattles my brain and makes me stumble on my feet.
“Holy shit!!” The girl looks as shocked as I am, and as soon as I regain my focus, I see her staring at me open-mouthed.
“I was just… You shouldn’t have…I really need to find my dog.
” She turns her back and starts heading for the tree line, her confident march turning into a jog, then a sprint.
I want to chase after her, risk another of her punches for the chance to learn her name.
But instead, I stand and watch her disappear into the woods, wondering why the hell I’m feeling a sense of loss over a complete stranger.
“Jack!” A shrill voice calls out from the house, and when I turn around and see Annabella, I wonder how I'm going to get through this encounter without losing my sanity. She’s been a regular visitor to the house since the funeral, and has become suffocating.
“There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you.” She wobbles across the lawn in her ridiculously high heels to get closer, and when I abandon all ideas of chasing the girl into the woods and start moving to join her, she tries really hard to hood her eyes and look seductive.
“I thought we could go over some decor plans for the masquerade ball.” She smiles, looking at the top half of my body and wetting her lips. I’d forgotten up till now that I’m still not wearing a t-shirt, and leading her back through to my gym room, I quickly locate it and throw it back on.
“Bea’s got it covered, but thanks.” I move on past her towards the side unit so I can pick up my phone, hoping she’ll get the hint that I’m not in the mood for company.
“Beatrice Stanley?” I hear the cruelty in her laugh, and it makes her all the more unattractive.
“The very one, she has excellent taste,” I assure her, flicking through my messages.
“This party is important, Jack. It’s going to make or break you. Do you really want to be taking advice from a—”
“A what?” I look up with a frown. “The bastard daughter of a duke?” I look her up and down and laugh. “I’m sorry that you wasted your journey, but like I said, I’ve got it covered. Perhaps Cecelia is available for tea on the lawn.” I turn to leave the room.
“Jack.” She grips her talons into my bicep before I can get away from her again. “You know you have a duty, right? You're thirty, you're not getting any younger, and people would find it much easier to accept you if you convinced them that you're taking your new role seriously.”
“What are you suggesting?” I ask her outright, despite knowing exactly what she has in mind.
“I’m saying I could give you what you want. If this party you're throwing next week is to try and find a suitable fema—”
“Get your head out of your ass.” I laugh at her.
“This isn’t Cinder-fucking-rella. I’m not looking for a wife.
I know I have a responsibility, and trust me when I say, I’ll find a way to see it through, but I’m no Prince Charming.
When you grow up watching someone love with all their heart and have it continually broken, you learn pretty fast that you can do without it.
This is a modern world we live in, I’m proof of that.
No one needs fairytales or to play pretend anymore. ”
“Then don’t pretend, you’d never have to with me.
I know my father hasn’t always been faithful to my mother; men require variety.
" She lowers her tone, but her grip on my arm gets tighter. “Thomas loved me; he would want me to be taken care of. We both know I was supposed to be the duchess of Fairfax; it’s what your father wanted.” Her eyes plead with me, and when she doesn’t get the response she wants, they darken. “You need me, Jack.”
She quickly drops me from her hold when I start to laugh at her.
“I need no one; my father ensured that I learnt that lesson from a very young age.” I make my exit, hoping she’s finally got the fucking message.