Strathmere's Bride Read online

  She didn’t dread the upcoming confrontation with him, but she didn’t savor it, either. It was just that it was tiring to battle the mighty Hunt family’s disapproval all the time just for the privilege of being herself.

  Glancing at the letter in her hand, she felt a sharp pang of homesickness. Squaring her shoulders, she put the letter on her bedside table to be enjoyed later. To Mary, she said, “Tell him I shall be down directly. I just want to tidy up.”

  Mary’s gaze swept the length of Chloe’s dress, then she giggled. Chloe sighed, looking down at herself. She was a mess. She always seemed to be untidy. She was never quite sure how that happened.

  It took her only a few minutes to change her dress into a pretty muslin print and restyle her hair in a simple twist. Of course, the results were hardly impressive. She was not particularly talented with hair. Too impatient, she supposed.

  Peering closer at the small pier glass, she saw her reflection was one of a pleasant-faced girl with good skin and clear, unusual eyes of blue, overlaid with wisps of pale, pale gray. Her father always said her eyes looked like a stormy sea. She liked that. Her nose was pretty, too, sort of small with a tiny slope at the tip. Her mouth was large, with wide full lips that had a tendency to break into an infectious smile.

  A pleasant-faced girl, certainly, but not a true beauty, which pleased her just fine. Beauties, like her late cousin Bethany, had too much responsibility living up to everyone else’s expectations or apologizing for their good looks. Bethany had spent enormous effort trying to convince everyone that even though she was beautiful, she was still a nice person.

  With a last pat for her hair, she went down to the library. Pausing just outside the threshold of the room that was now the new duke’s domain, she drew in a bracing breath. The dowager duchess wanted to dismiss her, that she already knew, and perhaps the duke agreed. The ironic thing was, she wanted to go, but she couldn’t let that happen for two very good reasons. One’s name was Rebeccah, and the other’s was Sarah.

  With a perfunctory knock on the door, she let herself in.

  Chapter Two

  Jareth turned to greet Miss Pesserat as she came into the room.

  She looked much different than she had earlier, which was an improvement, for her hair was neater and her dress clean.

  And then again, it was not an improvement. Her face was plain, devoid of expression, and that fascinating mobility he had seen when she was with the children was gone.

  She sketched a neat curtsy for him. “Your grace wished to see me?”

  “Yes. Please have a seat, Miss Pesserat.”

  “Thank you.”

  She sat, folding her hands on her lap, and waited. The picture of decorum.

  Jareth pulled himself up straight, clasped his hands behind his back and began to speak. “Miss Pesserat, I believe you know why I have asked to see you today.”

  “Yes, of course. You disapprove of me, non?”

  Jareth stopped. Chloe just stared back at him with wide, innocent eyes. They were so pale. Haunting eyes. Eyes that could look clear through a person.

  “Those are your words, not mine. I prefer to use my own, for they will convey my meaning more directly, so if you will be patient, please.”

  He was satisfied with the demure expression she donned. He continued, “Principally, I am distressed at your behavior. It has come to my attention that you are leading my nieces in daily activities that are filled with far too much play.”

  “Children should play.”

  “Of course, Miss Pesserat. Please do not think to twist my words to put me at the defense.” Her lashes swept down, betraying her. Oh, Miss Pesserat knew exactly what she was doing. And she was very good at it. “Play is essential, but not the only thing that must be present in a child’s life. Discipline, for example, must serve to balance.”

  “I quite agree, your grace.”

  “What I have observed since I have arrived home is a deplorable lack of discipline in the children. They are allowed to romp about most indecorously—”

  She held up a slender hand in one of those gestures that seemed as light as air. “Pardon, your grace. I do not understand, in-dec-roos-ly.”

  “Like urchins in the streets of London, mademoiselle,” he explained impatiently. “I observed them today gadding about in a most unseemly fashion out on the lawn. Their behavior would have disgraced this family should a visitor happened to have seen such screeching and laughter as was taking place.”

  “I am sorry we disturbed you.” She looked up, as if troubled. “You dislike laughter?”

  Jareth narrowed his eyes. “When appropriate, I do not, Miss Pesserat, disapprove of laughter, of course. However, hysterics are a different matter.”

  She smiled and nodded. Her smile lit up her face, transforming it and warming the room. “That is good, because the children need to laugh. It is joy that will chase their sadness away. They need to learn how to live again, your grace. To enjoy what life can give them.” Frowning slightly, she asked, “Do you not agree that life is to be enjoyed?”

  Despite her disconcerting remarks, Jareth countered without hesitation. “Yes, I do indeed. In its proper place, enjoyment is essential to a satisfactory existence. But there are other things that make for a complete life. Duty and responsibility, for example, and conducting yourself with dignity and self-respect. And all things in moderation, Miss Pesserat.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “You English put much stock in all of that mod-a-ray-shon.”

  Was she mocking him? “Are you saying you think it useless to know how to hold oneself with dignity?”

  Her spine stiffened visibly. “The French have dignity.”

  Now she had made it sound as if he were insulting her heritage. He sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. “If you wish to misunderstand me apurpose, I can do nothing to stop you, but I suggest you listen closely to my words to avoid unpleasantness. I believe I am being quite clear. We—my mother and I—would like you to alter the haphazard way in which you perform your duties. The children must be schooled in their manners and appropriate decorum befitting their station. You have an obligation to instruct them in these things, Miss Pesserat, as is your duty as governess.”

  “I agree with you, I do.” Chloe paused, seeming troubled. “But not at this time, your grace. They are recovering from an unspeakable event—”

  “More the reason to establish normal routines,” he interjected forcefully, “to help them recover and enjoy the security of a structured environment.”

  “I disagree,” she countered. Jareth couldn’t help a grudging admiration at her courage, for as much as he did not appreciate it, he couldn’t fault her for it. She was fighting for what she believed in, fighting for the sake of the children.

  But she was, of course, wrong.

  “They need love and joy,” she insisted.

  “In measure, Miss Pesserat, in measure.”

  She stood in a breathtakingly fluid movement. “No, in abundance, sir.”

  He stared at her, donning the careful languid laziness those of his class cultivated to handle such vulgar outbursts of emotion. After a long pause, she sat back down. He said in a clipped, precise voice, “If you have reined yourself under control, we can resume our conversation.”

  “But there is nothing to discuss. You and I disagree. You are in charge, but I am the one with the children in my care. What precisely do you suggest we discuss?”

  Surprisingly, she had summed the situation up quite succinctly. They were at an impasse.

  However, before Jareth had ever dreamed he would inherit the dukedom from his brother, he had spent eleven years in the business world. He had started a shipping business with an adept young commoner, a man by the name of Colin Burke, who had won a sturdy vessel in a game of cards. Jareth’s infusion of capital created Burke and Hunt Shipping. They started with one ship. The fleet grew over the years. Colin captained his own vessel and dealt with the local merchants in each port of call, but J
areth had been the one to move among his peers, culling investors and striking deals among the aristocracy.

  He was a duke by birth, but a deal maker by trade. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?

  “We should discuss a compromise, Miss Pesserat,” he said at last. “Since we both have differing views, as you so aptly put it, but both sincerely want what is best for my nieces, then I suppose we must find some way to meld our ideas together.”

  He could see she was suspicious. “A truce?”

  “A compromise. Meeting halfway.”

  “I know what compromise means.” She wasn’t ready to give in. “What do you suggest?”

  “A parceling of time, as it were.” He sat down across from her and leaned forward, wanting to meet her eye-to-eye. When he had wanted to intimidate her, he took the advantage of having her seated and him standing, but now they were going to compromise and so should meet as equals. Or so it would appear.

  “What I suggest, Miss Pesserat, is that the children’s time be structured to include a substantial amount of time for play. This would have to be conducted within the confines of the nursery, however. Of course, there should be occasional outings, but these should proceed in an orderly fashion with an eye toward their education. Perhaps a stroll to the pond to observe the ducks and other aspects of nature.” She was sitting perfectly still. He inclined his head forward and lowered his voice slightly, lending an illusion of conspiracy. “During these times they will conduct themselves as ladies should, you understand. The kind of romping the children presently engage in should be kept to contained places where they may not be inadvertently observed. The walled garden beyond the kitchens, for example, is a lovely place.”

  She remained quiet. This encouraged him. “Also, I am told their manners at tea are atrocious. I should like to begin taking tea with them so as to help with their instruction in this regard.”

  Chloe felt her eyes snap wide and a snorting sort of laugh escaped her before she could stop it. She brought her hand up quickly over her mouth. Visions of the duke seated at the tea table with the children, observing their antics—which were, she would agree, deplorable for gentle company but perfectly natural for children of their age—were decidedly funny.

  The duke snapped his mouth shut and stared at her. She disliked that look. She had seen it before. It was how the dowager duchess always regarded her.

  Coughing, she brought herself under control. “I am sorry, your grace. Please continue.”

  He waited a good minute or more before he spoke again. “I wish to be more involved with my nieces, and I shall be. I will be overseeing their instruction and so I expect to see progress in the areas of self-discipline.” He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together over his chest.

  Chloe had had enough pretense. Politely, she said, “But that is no compromise, your grace. It is what you have wanted all along.”

  He didn’t move, didn’t even blink.

  Then he smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile.

  “Miss Pesserat,” he began with studious patience. “I am going to see that my nieces are brought up as proper ladies of their station should be, with or without your cooperation.”

  Was he threatening her? “Monsieur, are you saying you will dismiss me if I do not agree?”

  “If you think your position in this house, and in those children’s lives, is utterly inalterable, I will tell you, Miss Pesserat, that I will not hesitate to terminate your employment here regardless of the dire warning of the doctor—of which I can only assume you are aware, since you seem uncannily sure of yourself. This I will do if I determine the damage to the children would be greater if you were to stay than to go.”

  A sick, heavy feeling pressed down on her chest, making her feel slightly ill. Chloe tried to determine whether or not he was bluffing.

  Not that she cared a whit for the position. Or Strathmere or England for that matter. But the children..

  That she could not have. It was a sacred trust her beloved cousin had given her. Bethany had brought her into her children’s lives to help strike a balance between the constraints of the girls’ societal position and the more simple pleasures life had to offer.

  Friends since girlhood, Bethany had always said Chloe had a talent for living. Chloe hadn’t understood what she meant, for the manner in which she approached life was completely natural to her. However, she had recognized the blatant appeal in her cousin’s letter and accepted the position. When she arrived at Strathmere, she had seen immediately what Bethany had feared—that her precious daughters would miss out on all the joie de vivre and lead, if it were up to the dowager duchess, a dreary existence dominated by etiquette, restraint and, above all, moderation.

  Chloe looked at Jareth with cool assessment. “You would pitch the children into another loss so soon after the death of their parents just so you might have your way? Is it so important, then, to win?”

  He was visibly taken aback, stunned to hear it put that way. Recovering quickly, he countered, “I will take whatever steps necessary to protect and guide my nieces.”

  “You spent too many years at the bargaining table, your grace. Your mother loved to tell everyone of your great success, so I know you were a very good businessman. But this is not a cargo we are speaking of, but little ones, precious to me.”

  “And to me,” he added sharply.

  She shook her head. “You do not even know them. You were not here when they lost their mama and papa. You do not hold Rebeccah in your arms at night while she cries out. You say you know what is best for them, but how can you know?”

  He paled. “How can you?” he challenged, but his voice lost its edge.

  She gave him a little smile. “I do not know, your grace. I only follow what is in my heart.”

  He stayed silent, watching her with those dark, dark eyes. They were like pools of pitch. Something passed over them, an indefinable emotion Chloe didn’t understand. She didn’t have any hope of him comprehending what she was trying to accomplish with the children, and she certainly didn’t expect to win his approval. But she would not be dismissed.

  Drawing in a long breath, he said, in a steady, deep voice, “I will not argue with you, Miss Pesserat. I have a duty to my nieces that I shall see done to the best of my ability. You—” he paused”—shall make your own choices.”

  “Yes,” she said quietly, standing. “You speak of duty as if only a duke could truly know its meaning. I have a duty as well, your grace.”

  With that, she strode to the door, bracing herself for some comment, some parting gibe he would throw out in order to have the last word. When it didn’t come, she placed her hand on the doorknob and glanced back over her shoulder. The duke was watching her, body stiff, face inscrutable.

  It was then it struck her that she had been wrong. He wasn’t interested in “winning,” as she had accused him. She saw the troubled look on his face and it wasn’t anger. He truly cared about his nieces. He wanted what was best for them.

  But he was, of course, wrong.

  She turned back around and left, heading to her room.

  It didn’t matter what his motives were. Chloe loved her cousin’s daughters with a fierce protectiveness, no less than if they had been her own. She would not allow the duke to destroy them, even if he did it with the best of intentions.

  Chapter Three

  In the drawing room, Helena Rathford arranged her skirts with a quick flick of her wrist, then gave a nod to her accompanist seated at the pianoforte. Her mother nodded back and struck the first chord.

  Jareth watched the young woman, impressed with her grace, her self-possession, her lovely face. Hers was a commanding kind of beauty—strong, high cheekbones with slashing hollows underneath, thin lips of bright primrose, a fine nose and chin, all framed with silvery-blond hair. She closed her pale lashes over ice-blue eyes, drew in a breath and began to sing.

  Her voice was magnificent. Jareth stood transfixed for a moment as Helena gave life t
o the notes. It appeared to be almost painful, as if she dragged the melody up from her soul to set it free into the air.

  Something, the touch of her gaze perhaps, made him glance at his mother. She was looking back at him, a crafty, knowing smile just slightly twisting her lips. Her eyes slid away, but there was satisfaction in them, he saw.

  Jareth was no idiot, which was what he would have to have been to be oblivious to his mother’s intentions with regard to Lady Helena Rathford. He glanced up, examining the woman his mother wanted him to marry. Beauty, breeding, accomplished in the arts, congenial and pleasant. His mother’s discriminating taste had ferreted out a superior specimen of womanly excellence.

  The music washed over him, and he let it take him with it as it built. His gaze drifted to the window. To the night, and to the stars, spilled across the sky like a thousand brilliant diamonds on black velvet. They were his great love, the stars. So beautiful, so mysterious. Complex, yet predictable, stable. Each season bringing its own patterns to study, to wonder about, yet an ever changing panorama.

  Strange, but he felt so emotional just now. Perhaps it was Helena’s impassioned song, perhaps it was being home after so long, perhaps grief. He didn’t know. He only knew a bleak sadness was welling up inside him, hardening his throat and pricking the back of his eyes.

  That was when he saw the movement. Down in the garden, a shadow flitting among the symmetrical boxwoods. Dark gray against the paler color of the night sky, it was the figure of a woman.