Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jessamine lay alone in her bed, wishing Andrew had come to visit her again.
She had thought he might after the dinner, but after giving her a quick kiss on the forehead, he had told her to get ready for bed and that he would come up later.
So far, later had not arrived.
She was fairly certain he had not come upstairs at all; she had been listening out for his footsteps.
And so, as the clock chimed three, she clambered out of bed, wrapped herself in a robe, and crept out of the door.
After checking on William, who was contentedly having a feed, she slipped downstairs through the darkened house.
Over the weeks she’d been there, it had become so familiar to her that she could move about within the hallways and rooms without the aid of sight.
It came as no surprise to her that Andrew had closeted himself in his study. When he was missing from their life together, that was often where she saw he had gone.
Tonight, however, she intended to disturb him. Largely because he ought to have come up to bed. He’d had very little sleep the night before.
And because he’d told her later.
Later was now. Later had well and truly arrived, and she wanted her answers.
A light shone under the door, and she didn’t bother announcing herself as she pushed it open.
The hinges squeaked, sending his head jerking up, and his red-rimmed eyes met hers from behind the desk.
He sat in his chair, looser than he ordinarily sat—ordinarily, he moved through the world with a deadly sort of precision.
A half-empty bottle lay before him.
“Drinking?” she asked, shutting the door behind her. “What’s wrong?”
A line appeared between his brows. “Why are you here?”
“You never came to bed, so I wondered where you had gone. And I discovered you were here.” She clicked her tongue. “Is something the matter?”
He stared at her as though he could not believe she was here.
And so she approached, skirting the desk and placing herself in his lap.
Once, she would never have dared be so bold, but things had changed between them.
Perhaps not as much as Irene had wanted, but enough that they had a chance of being a real family.
Slowly, she told herself as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
His breath smelled of whiskey.
“What’s the matter?” she asked again, gentling the words.
He shifted, putting his arms around her.
“Jessamine,” he murmured, leaning in to nuzzle her neck.
“Why are you here?” His tongue flicked across her collarbones, and despite herself, she gasped a little.
“Why are you always here?” He turned his attention to the other side of her neck.
“You are a torment. A delight. I have not needed anyone the way I need you.”
She dug her fingers into his hair. “Why are you drinking?”
“Sometimes… the nightmares come too fast and too strong. If I drink enough, I can outrun them for a short period of time.” He kissed his way up the column of her neck. “And you.”
“You can outrun me?”
“Sometimes I want to,” he murmured. “Do you think that’s terrible? Sometimes, you scare me so much, I wish I could hide.”
“Andrew—”
“But then I know I would never see you again, and that would be worse. So much worse.” His arm curved around her waist, holding her to him. “What am I to do with you?”
From the way he was still kissing her neck, she suspected he had some ideas.
And she wouldn’t have been against him, except for the fact she could smell the whiskey on his breath.
“Andrew,” she said again, cupping his face in her hands and looking down at him.
His face had softened, even his blue eyes gentler and less focused than they usually were. She traced the line of his mouth with the tip of her finger, feeling as though she were being more daring than she ever had been in her life before.
“You said you would tell me about your father and your brother.”
The curve of his lips flattened into a hard line. “Sometimes the past should die, and we should let it.”
“Remember what Irene said? That it’s a privilege to know all your husband’s secrets, even the less palatable ones?” She slid her fingers through the softness of his hair, and to her delight, he leaned into her touch. “Or you can tell me more about your nightmares.”
“Mm. No.” He closed his eyes as she used her nails to scratch his scalp. “There are some things you should never know.”
“That only makes me more interested to learn.”
“All the same. That’s fine, Jessamine.” His eyes fluttered open, spearing her, and he took hold of her chin, bringing her face to his so he could kiss it. “Am I awake?” he murmured.
“As awake as I am,” she whispered back.
His huff was half of laughter and half of another emotion she couldn’t identify. But he adjusted her so that she was seated more comfortably on his lap, and reached past her for the whiskey. “Fortification,” he told her, and took a swig.
“Andrew, no. Enough.”
“That was the last one, I promise.” He replaced the bottle on the table and wrapped that arm around her, too.
Under ordinary circumstances, he was not nearly as tactile with her—including all the brushes against the small of her back—but she could only gather these were not ordinary circumstances.
“My father,” Andrew said with a sigh. “He was a cruel man. I suppose you think I inherited a lot from him. He had strong expectations about how his heir and spare ought to behave. We all had a very specific place in his life, and he taught us how best to fulfill his expectations.”
Jessamine rested her head against his shoulder. She could practically feel the hurt humming through him, even if he never directly acknowledged it. “So, you never had freedom?”
“I never expected freedom. Neither George or I could ever have hoped for freedom. No man or woman in this world is wholly free. I knew, as the second son, my role would be to find my own way through the world one day. I could not afford to be profligate or selfish, because I required an occupation. My father was not the sort of gentleman who provides his son with an allowance merely by dint of being his son. And George… Well, he was the heir, and Father always expected him to act as worthy of that title. In some ways, he had more freedoms, more financial security, but in other ways, he had less. He was required to receive endless lessons on comportment and how best to run an estate. Some of them… the penalties for failure were harsh. My father’s brother, Rebecca’s father, was much the same… And Rebecca…” He closed his eyes.
“You don’t need to tell me about her,” she whispered, wrapping her arms more tightly around her neck. “I know how much you loved her.”
“We were each other’s confidants,” Andrew said. “Then… I was not the same man I am now, Jessamine.”
“I know.”
Although now she knew him better, Jessamine could understand why Rebecca had always spoken of him so warmly. There was a softness to him, one that she’d been forced to dig for.
Perhaps when they were children, that side of him was more accessible. Rebecca had certainly known it.
“Rebecca was always expected to marry well,” he said.
“We all knew it, and she knew it, too. All her life, governesses had prepared her to be the perfect lady. But when the time came, we never thought—we had no idea that the man my uncle would pick would be that man. George had already left for London, and he knew little of this, but I was at home, and I knew everything. I’ve told you the rest.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Jessamine murmured.
“So, to answer your question about my father: he was a cold man. I always respected him a little, but it was fear, not love, that regulated my behavior as a boy. All the same, it prepared me for what was to come.” His hand came clumsily to her cheek.
“That is why I wanted structure for William. So he might be prepared for the world.”
Jessamine caught his hand, holding it against her cheek. For some reason, her chest ached.
“I know,” she said. “And we will do everything to ensure that he has the best start in life. You know that’s what I want, too. I just also want—oh, you know what I also want, Andrew. I want him to feel secure and loved, too. I don’t want him to feel about us the way you feel about your father.”
He snorted. “With you as a mother, how could he?”
She smiled at him as she stroked his hand. “Tell me about your mother.”
“I remember nothing about her. She died shortly after my birth. My father might have loved her. I hardly know. That was not a language he ever spoke.”
“The language of love?”
“Affection was weakness in his eyes. He may have loved my mother, but he more so saw her as a necessary component of his life. He had a duty to provide for her, which he did, and she had a duty to give him sons, which she did. When she died, both their duties were, in essence, discharged.”
His words sent pain through Jessamine’s chest. Such a callous way to speak about his parents. As though duty were the only component of a life.
“Is that what you believe?” she asked, holding herself a little straighter in his arms. “That duty is the most important part of one’s life?”
“I think it’s an important part,” he said at last, tilting his head so he could look at her. “You were always my duty, love.”
The endearment speared her, and she took a deep breath. “When you married me, yes. And now?”
“Now, I have duties toward you, and William, and everyone else who expects things of me now that I’m the duke. If anything, I have more duties than before. My freedoms are both greater and lesser than before. And I must ensure—if I can—that I can step up to fulfill them.”
She knew how much obligation filled his life. That was another reason he spent so much time in his study. And yet the concept couldn’t help but sting a little.
“Am I nothing but a duty?” she asked, frowning.
“You,” he said, and laughed. “Come, kiss me,” he told her. “Kiss me until I tire of it, if such a thing were possible. No more talk of nightmares.”
Jessamine placed a hand against his chest. “Come to bed instead.”
“Bed?” His brows rose, and his eyes slid across her face, turning heated. Then he frowned and looked away. “Do you know what you’re asking of me?”
“Not too much, I should hope.” She slid off his lap and tugged at his arm. “Come, Andrew. Enough about duty. Let’s look forward to better things.”
“Is there a higher power than duty?” he asked as she tugged him to her feet. “Does a man have any greater obligation than what he owes to himself and others?”
“He might, if he were to think about it sober,” Jessamine said firmly.
She led him to her bed and laid him down, helping him out of his coat and waistcoat, and tugging his boots free. Before he slept, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.
“I should know better,” he murmured against her hair. “Tell me this is merely duty, Jessamine.”
“Would that make you content?”
A pause, as though he was truly contemplating the idea. “Yes.”
“Then yes. This is duty.” The duty that was owed to a husband and wife, where they treated one another with affection and intimacy.
But…
Jessamine wanted what Irene had with Henry. She’d seen the way they behaved together. And although for a long time, she had worried about William, the closest she got to Andrew, the surer she was that she could have both.
William could have both. Andrew had never been given a good role model in his father, but she could help him. They could explore all the wonders that could come when one opened one’s mind to the possibility of love.
Could she love him? Did she love him?
These were all questions for the morning. For tonight, she would answer her husband’s.