Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Jane arrived at the breakfast room door at the same time her husband did. “Good morning. I thought you would have finished before I arrived.”
“I heard you slept poorly and were going to be late, so I rearranged my morning accordingly. Are you well?” Richard offered her a seat.
“Only tired. My brain feels like freshly shorn wool.” Jane took the cup of tea offered by the maid watching over the room.
He chuckled. “I have never heard that description before, however, I can easily understand the analogy. I have felt that way before, too. Would you like your usual breakfast?”
“I have a usual?”
“Yes, most mornings you have a bun and a boiled egg. Often you eat the bun with marmalade unless the cook’s redcurrant preserves are served.”
Her heart swelled at the thought that Richard had come to know her preferences so quickly. “I did not know I was so predictable. However, an egg and a bun sound just the thing.”
He served plates for both of them and came to sit next to her. An apple pastry, the likes of which she had not seen before, sat on his plate.
“What is that?”
“I am not sure if they have a formal name. I call the pastry dapple datty, the name I gave it as a small boy. The cook makes the treat for me every birthday or other special occasion.”
“You did not tell me they were there.”
Richard grinned. “You didn’t ask if there was anything new.”
“I believe you wished to keep them all to yourself.” She could not help but smile at his teasing. Who knew the Duke was capable of such a thing? Rose would fall into vapors at the thought.
He hummed his answer, mouth full of the dapple datty.
“Well, it is your birthday, I suppose I shall wait for another occasion.”
Richard cut another bite, taking care to have a spiced apple and a dab of sauce on top.
Instead of raising his fork to his own mouth, he brought it to Jane’s.
Overcoming the surprise of such a gift, she opened her mouth to taste the offered bite.
The fork touched her tongue, and she closed her mouth around it.
Richard’s eyes darkened at the same time the cinnamon and nutmeg hit her senses.
He set the fork on his plate, watching her reaction to the buttery, rich pastry.
She had shared food with George her whole life.
A bun torn in two, a stolen biscuit, new apples from the orchard.
This was different. George never cared how she felt about what they shared.
Jane closed her eyes as much to savor the flavors as to shield herself from the intensity of his gaze.
The dapple datty was doing something completely unreasonable to her ability to think clearly, and she was quite certain the effect was not entirely the cook’s doing.
“Well?” His voice was low and closer than she expected.
She opened her eyes but didn’t raise her lids high enough to meet his.
“I think this is one of the finest apple creations I have ever eaten. Which includes everything from our harvest fairs.”
“High praise.”
“I mean it entirely.” She looked at him then, which was a mistake, because he was watching her with those darkened eyes.
Almost the same look he had after their last kiss.
As if there were nothing else worthy of his notice in the world.
A look she had witnessed between Phil and Michael, George and Jonathan.
Impossible.
Jane looked back at her plate. Her egg. Her bun with its entirely adequate marmalade. She was aware of warmth in her face that had nothing to do with the tea. He wanted her. Her. Not some bargained wife. Not Miss Cecile. Her. Plain Jane.
Improbable.
How could a man like him desire someone like her? She must be wrong. Perhaps the dapple datty had him muddled.
Her mind raced for something to talk about.
Martha had slipped the three freshly pressed handkerchiefs to her as she left her room. With Francis still tidying her chamber, there was nowhere else to put them. Jane tucked the handkerchiefs up the long sleeve of her dress. “When do you normally receive your birthday gifts?”
“Mother would give me hers at breakfast. My father would make a big production of bestowing my gift much later in the day, sometimes in front of guests.”
“We are not having company. I didn’t know who to invite, and honestly, it did not occur to me to do so until Lady Comstock fished for an invitation.”
“I would rather spend a quiet evening with you. I have few genuine friends in the world. Most were present at our wedding. Perhaps we can read by the fire or play a game of cards.”
“How can you have so few friends? There was none but family at our wedding.”
“There are many who claim my acquaintance and many with whom I associate. However, to be a friend, there must be trust. Life has shown me there are few I can trust. I do have those under my employ, I trust, but they have not become friends.” Richard sighed.
“I once thought that I had more friends. But they lost my respect.”
Jane knew enough to presume that he spoke of those who did not come to his rescue at the fateful house party that resulted in his first marriage. She knew Michael had not been there, as he lamented that he might have saved Richard from disaster. “Do you trust so few people then?”
“Philippa will say I am jaded in my opinions, and perhaps I am. However, I have discovered that my title attracts more attention than I do. I know you have only been out on calls twice. But you have seen the difference a title makes, have you not?”
“Miss Cecile showed no desire to be my friend.”
Richard scoffed.
“Lady Comstock seems sincere. Though she is rather blunt in her opinions. I do not believe that my title means anything to her.”
“I believe she sees my mother as the only true duchess, but that friendship will be honest with you, if you do not shun her as Ethel did.”
“She was kind during calls on Wednesday. Not pushing her opinions on me before I formed my own but giving me a warning when she felt someone warranted one.”
Richard laughed. “She disguises her gossip well, my dear. Heed her warnings but also do not fear to form opposing opinions of your own. She is not infallible.”
A footman appeared at the door. He did not speak but only nodded. Richard reached for Jane’s hand and brought it to his lips before standing. “I am afraid I have business to attend to that may keep me occupied most of the day. I look forward to our supper and our evening together.”
Jane watched him go before turning her attention back to the remains of her breakfast. The bun and marmalade that she chose paled compared to the dapple datty.
On the sideboard there was one left. Richard had eaten two.
Less the bite he shared with her. She retrieved the last and added the pastry to her plate.
She thought over their conversation about friends.
She had few enough outside of her sisters.
Something she always assumed was because of a lack of opportunity.
Her social circle at Kellmore was rather small from necessity more than anything.
Isabel had come to Jane’s aid when she was needed.
If not for Miss Cecile’s behavior and Lady Comstock’s cautions, Jane would have thought she was well received in the area, but even without Richard’s comment, she knew she was only received because of her title.
Odd how society worked. Last year, no one even noticed her during her partial season.
Next spring, dozens would flock to her parlor on at-home days.
Jane shuddered.
She had not made any faux pas when she accompanied Lady Comstock and played the role of a duchess.
Asking herself what Alex, Phil, or George would do gave Jane an easy guide.
She found that as long as she complimented her hostess and talked about the beauty of Shropshire, the quarter-hour visits passed quickly enough.
She was glad Richard had not insisted they go to Town until after Christmas.
Those at-home days would be daunting. Perhaps Phil, would come sit with her.
She bit into the dapple datty. As before, it was delicious.
Though maybe not as unique as she first thought, Kellmore’s cook had made something quite similar.
She looked out the window, wondering if one pastry could be that different from the other as she ate.
She closed her eyes, summoning the moment of her first bite and Richard’s intense gaze.
He had not been simply sharing his favorite food.
The brush of her chin when offering the food on his fork.
There had been something more, prompting the desire in his eyes. She shivered at the thought.
Her husband had meant something more.
Inconceivable.
Richard regarded the men Hanover, the butler, gathered in the rarely used drawing room in the east wing.
Thirty of the male staff above the age of fifteen, almost a third of whom had experience in the military.
Richard could only pray that they were men who were as faithful to him as they claimed when they received their pay.
Some had been with him for years. Others sought jobs now that the war with Napoleon was over.
Could he trust them all? The former Bow Street Runner, Mr. Birch, whom he hired to oversee the protection of his properties, investigated each of their lives and tested their mettle.
In two cases Richard knew of, Birch tried to bribe the would-be employees to ensure they would be faithful.
One man had failed that test, the other was Yates.
Birch and Yates stood off to one side.
“I will not keep you long. Yates returned from Town this morning. My half-brother, Duncan Kenworth,” Richard gestured to the portrait that had been brought down from the attic, “has gone to considerable lengths to make it appear as if he has left for the continent. Too considerable. We confirmed he learned of my marriage before today. I can only imagine his interest in the Aylton dukedom has not diminished, rather, the opposite. Thus far he has not resorted to murder, as I am still here.”
A couple of men hid their chuckles under a cough. Richard could not blame them. At least they paid attention.
“I have never served, so I will not insult any man in this room by pretending to know your business better than you do. I will leave it to Birch and Yates to address you and organize security here and around my wife.”
“Duncan Kenworth exploited certain weaknesses of my former wife by means of seduction. The current Duchess of Aylton is not a woman who can be bought or flattered into betraying those she is loyal to. Which means if my half-brother wants leverage over this house, he will not find it in her character. He may therefore look for it in her safety.”
The room was still.
“She does not deserve to pay for a quarrel that began before she ever knew my name.”
He looked across the room slowly, letting the silence do its work.
“She must be protected without being frightened.”
He stepped back.
“Birch. Yates. Please share your plan.”