Chapter 30
Thirty
The primrose gown Jane purchased in Bath was too fancy for everyday wear, but for a special dinner it was perfect. She tugged at the neckline where it exposed the swell of her breasts. “Francis, did you modify this dress?”
“Yes, Your Grace. The neckline sat much too high to be in fashion.”
“We spoke about this after you modified my last one. I prefer not to have the gown dip so low.” Frustration at the abigail’s defiance built up. She had not wanted to wear a fichu with this dress, she also did not wish to have so much of her bosom exposed.
“But that is not the current fashion.”
“I do not care what they are wearing in Town or Paris. Stop changing the way I want my gowns to fit. If you have done this to other gowns, you will repair them.” She should not have to have this conversation again, and tonight of all nights.
“But I have cut off the—”
Jane held up her hand to silence the protests. “How many?”
“Five. All of your evening gowns.”
“You will find a way to repair them.” It was embarrassing enough to have so much exposed in front of Richard and the staff. She would not be dressed like a wanton in front of the ton. Even if they wished to walk around half naked she did not have to follow their lead.
“But—”
“No, we discussed this last week. You did not have my leave to lower any of my necklines. I told you I did not like them.”
“People will expect—”
“I know what they expect. I am not the former duchess. I am Jane Kenworth, Duchess of Aylton, and I am very different from the last duchess. For one, I have no desire to flirt with any man beyond my husband. I do not need to expose my charms to anyone but him.”
“Not that you do,” muttered Francis.
“What?”
“Nothing, Your Grace.”
Was this disobedience grounds for termination?
Jane did not want the reputation of being a difficult employer.
However, an abigail was not supposed to act on her own accord, especially when she had been told otherwise.
Enough was enough, Jane’s kindness could only stretch so far.
“Tomorrow morning, you will show me which gowns you have meddled with, and we will determine the best course of action.”
Francis lifted her chin and said nothing more as she completed her duties.
Had Jane been too hard on the maid? Oh, that she could have witnessed her own mother deal with an errant servant.
Richard awaited Jane in the main parlor.
His eyes flitted to her exposed chest but did not remain there.
Jane would have worn a fichu, but the one that best matched could not be found.
If she had been carrying a fan, not a necessity on a cold November evening, she would have used it to cover herself.
He offered his arm. “Is all well?”
“Why do you ask?”
“The little crease between your brows is back.” He touched the spot.
“A minor upset with my abigail. She modified my gown… It is silly, nothing for you to worry about.”
“Hardly silly if it is causing you to be vexed. What happened?”
“I prefer the necklines of my gowns to be higher than what is in fashion. She lowered the neckline of my gowns, and I am not comfortable with the change.” Jane covered herself with her hand and lowered her gaze.
Richard stopped just inside the door to the family dining room and turned to face her. “Would you like to change into another gown?”
“I do not wish your dinner to grow cold.”
“That was not what I asked.”
Jane rubbed the fabric of the skirt between her fingers and continued to look down. “No, I liked the color of this dress and thought I looked good in primrose. I wanted to wear the dress to celebrate.”
“You are quite fetching in this dress, and though it might not be of much comfort to you, I am not affronted by the line of the front. The gown is not so low as to make me wish to hide you from the view of the footmen, and I am sure that if we were in town, it would still be higher than many.”
Jane looked up at him to judge his words.
His eyes darkened slightly, and one corner of his mouth tipped up. He lifted a finger and traced her exposed collarbone. “I find the dress quite ravishing on you.”
Her breath caught. The swirls that extended out from where he touched spun about her. How could she go breathless without even a kiss?
Richard lowered his hand and stepped back. “Shall we eat?”
Jane could only nod.
The dinner was superb. Mrs. LaRue had spared no effort in preparing the Duke’s favorites, white soup, celery in hot sauce, and roasted pheasant. Jane had never had a finer bird. Redbridge’s huntsman must have sought a particularly plump one for the Duke’s birthday.
For dessert, a rich chocolate pudding was presented alongside spiced pairs.
Richard’s smile grew at the sight of the pudding. “I must thank you for ordering this, it is one of my favorites.”
“To be honest, I am still learning your likes, so I relied on the cook’s recommendations.” Embarrassed to admit she knew her husband so little, Jane ducked her head.
“It has been some time since someone has gone to the trouble of asking Mrs. LaRue my preferences. I quite appreciate your efforts. What else do you have planned?”
“I have a small gift in the parlor for you. Then I thought you might want to play a game of fox and geese. You have a lovely board.”
“What are my chances of winning?”
“I could not say. I have not played since George went to America.” She was rather good at the game but she would let him discover that for himself. And allow them both to see how each other’s skills matched up.
“Then shall we play for a forfeit?”
“It is your birthday, if that is what you wish.”
The lopsided grin appeared on her husband’s face. “I wish it very much.”
Something in the rumble of his voice made the swirls start again. Perhaps this was not such a good idea. Though a forfeit of a kiss would be welcome.
Once in the parlor, Jane sat on the sofa and took the handkerchiefs she had wrapped in brown paper, that being all she could find, from their hiding place.
The meager offering looked even more pathetic against the rich fabric of the cushions.
“It is not much. I should have purchased something in Bath…”
Richard took the package from her.
My gift is so inadequate. Jane bit her lip as he untied the string and unwrapped the paper, revealing four cotton handkerchiefs.
Richard did not speak as he examined them one by one.
Jane rushed to fill the silence. “I know they are not much. I found the cloth in the sewing room… Since the one you let me use the other night was so plain, I thought you might like… It was silly to make a duke such a simple gift, I
know…”
“You made these?” His voice came out deep and guttural as he raised his head. Were there tears in his eyes?
“Yes. I am sorry it is so little.”
“Little? This may be the greatest gift I have ever received. No one has ever taken the time to make me something before.”
With a swiftness he had not used since the day in the sewing room, his hands came to either side of her face, holding her in place, and his lips met hers. Jane barely had time to register that she had not flinched before answering his fervent kiss.
His lips pressed to hers with an earnestness that stole all thought. Then, before she could gather herself, he shifted, his mouth leaving hers to trace along her jaw.
The soft press of his lips moved with deliberate slowness toward her ear, and she found she could not follow his touch with any rational part of her mind.
Only feel the new sensations, each small point of contact leaving a trail of heat that did not cool when he moved on.
Her hands, which had been resting against his chest, curled into the fabric of his coat, pulling them closer.
He paused just below her ear, and her breath left her entirely. How could she be breathless when her own lips were free to receive air?
His lips found the curve where her jaw met her neck, and the whirls that quieted during dinner spun loose of their moorings altogether. Not quite deciding to, she tilted her head to give him better access to the tender spot.
His slow path continued down her neck, her grip on his coat had tightened, lest she drown in the feelings.
When his lips reached her collarbone, the whirls collided and multiplied, pouring into every part of her at once.
As he planted petal-soft kisses over the exposed skin near her shoulder, she could not presently find it in herself to mind that Francis had ruined her gown. Richard reversed direction, stopping at her ear again.
“I love you, Jane.”
The whirls stopped as an arctic blast froze them in place. Leaving a tangle of emotional strings impossible to understand.
No. No. No. He could not. He was not supposed to.
With all her strength, she pushed him away.
Richard blinked at her.
Jane felt tears filling her eyes. How could he lie? Unable to explain, she shook her head and said the words she had heard so often over the last six years. “No. You lie. No man can love me.”
His face blurred before her as her eyes filled with tears. She ran from the room before she could not see the way.
What happened?
Richard stared at the empty doorway, his chest heaving to catch his breath.
He declared his love.
She rejected him.
Said he lied.
If this feeling that had been growing since the day she agreed to his proposal was not love, what was it?
He knew loathing. He knew lust, much to his lament. He knew loneliness and loyalty. But until this moment, he had never truly felt loss.
Was that not proof of his love? Yes, it was but a seedling newly planted, not yet rich and full and in bloom.
He had proof of her love for him.
No one had ever made something with their own hands for him. Not even his mother, who stitched often. His young cousin Moriah gave him a drawing ten years ago when she was in that phase of learning. Poor Michael had dozens upon dozens of the sketches.
He picked up the handkerchiefs that had fallen between them as they embraced and traced the fine workmanship.
Compared the designs. This was not the type of gift one made with no feeling.
Money had always been plentiful in his life.
Time. Time was the true commodity. He ran his fingers over the embroidered words.
Honor, Fidelitas, et Integritas. To sew them took time, he knew that much and to realize they were the part of the Aylton crest that meant the most to him. If not love what could it be?
Time given was love.
She gave him love.
He had been giving time. Even before he understood what he felt. The words he whispered solidified what his heart had known for days.
Richard ran his hands through his hair. Then what had gone wrong? Was the saying of the words wrong?
Man had been declaring his love since the beginning of time. Even Michael knew that is what women wanted to hear. Saying “I love you” was on his confounded list!
Richard had not declared his love lightly. They were words he had never whispered to a woman in his life. Childhood declarations aside.
He had meant those words. Perhaps they were not as eloquent as Shakespeare’s words.
No. You lie. No man can love me.
He had heard something like that before…Richard searched his memory.
Felton.
Richard balled his hands into fists. There had only been one lie told.
Often, and with so much conviction, his wife believed the lie to be truth.
If his father-in-law lived any closer than Yorkshire, Richard would have been out the door, riding as fast as he could to break every lying bone in the man’s body.
That, however, would not soothe Jane’s heart, nor make her believe what she had been taught could never be.
He looked at the empty doorway leading to a silent corridor. How could he make this right?
A frightened deer would only run faster if it were chased. He needed patience, resolve, and consistency. He would not chase, but he would keep presenting himself until she had no choice but to believe him.