Flowers From The Storm (45 page)

After she’d broken the wax seal, he returned to his chair and read. He took a long time about it, turning his head slightly to the right as if he could not quite see the writing straight on. Finally he sighed, rolled his eyes, and tossed it on the table beside him. Then he gave Maddy a sly grin. “Not… coming.”

“She says no more than that?” Lady de Marly asked.

Jervaulx picked up the letter again and let it unfold from his fingers. “Pray. Pray. Lots of… pray. Set…

not… foot… with same house… my miss. Mistress.” He glanced at Maddy. “You.” He consulted the letter again. “Sisters… not allow. Unnature… son.” He crumpled it in one hand and lobbed it into the fire from across the room.

“She is not pleased with your choice,” Lady de Marly commented.

“Legal,” Jervaulx said. “Not… mistress.
Wife
.”

“To be sure,” his aunt said. “But you leave yourself open, you know. There is the question of whether you are in your right mind. What are the provisions? Is the estate protected? What if Miss Timms is a fortune-hunter who has trapped an imbecile in her web?”

“He is not—”

Lady de Marly interrupted Maddy. “I speak only of questions, Duchess. Your position is weak. This marriage can only tell against him at his hearing. No rational man of his rank would have contracted it.”

The duke stood up suddenly. He went to the writing desk, picked up the pen and held it out to her.

“Settlement now. Write… what you want.”

“What I want?” Maddy asked.

Lady de Marly snorted.

Jervaulx smiled suddenly. “My sweet life,” he said. “Three horses own… two gentlewomen… twenty gowns… all chambers fit… beds… cushions… carpets… six or eight gentlemen.” He laid the pen in her hand. “Maddygirl. What you want.”

“I want nothing.”

Lady de Marly laughed outright, as if she had made a joke. Jervaulx gazed down at Maddy a moment and then knelt beside her chair. “Nothing?”

She shook her head helplessly. “Of course not.”

He looked into her eyes, his head tilted a little. He had the ghost of a gentle smile on his lips. “Father?”

he asked. “Not you then… support father?”

“Oh…” She bit her lip, sorely tempted. “No. It would not be right.”

Lady de Marly spoke abruptly. “You had best not carry this pretty act too far, girl. If he died tonight, there’s not a provision for you anywhere. Not a shilling would you get, and you may believe it. State some reasonable and provident sums, and the court will think the better of you for your common sense.

Calvin and I can witness your hand, and the duke’s.”

“But—” Maddy looked to him. “I want no sums. Thee and me—we aren’t to—”

He put his hand over hers, a sharp squeeze. She understood that well enough. For a moment the room was silent.

“Maddygirl,” he said. “I owe now… everything.” He smiled at her, such a smile—it made her heart ache. “Give back… you… a little.”

“Thou dost not owe anything to me,” she whispered.

He let go of her and stood up. “How much… Trotman?” He looked at his aunt.

“She brought ten thousand,” Lady de Marly said.

He made an impatient gesture of his hand. “How much?”

“A jointure of fifty-two hundred. Allowance the same, and life interest in a quarter of the Monmouth rents upon your death. Mind you, Miss Trotman brought ten thousand with her. Fifty thousand to be distributed among female issue on marriage with consent. Seventy-five thousand among second, third and fourth male issue, fifty among any other males, the same terms. Remainder to the heir.”

He laughed. “Busy… wife.”

Lady de Marly lifted her thin brows and scanned Maddy. “She looks in prime health for the task.”

“Tomorrow,” he said. “I send for… Bailey. You tell settlement. Write same… what you said. Add…

two thousand annual
… life
… Mr. John Timms. Careful… mistake. I can… read.”

“But—” Maddy said.

“Want,” Jervaulx interjected. “
I
… want.”

She sat back in her chair. It was all a parody; she had gone so far into falsehood that it had come to the writing of preposterous documents providing for the children of a marriage that would not exist. With a sudden spirit, she stood up. “I will retire.”

Jervaulx bowed. Lady de Marly actually smiled. She held out her hand. “Good night to you, Duchess.”

Maddy took it. The old lady squeezed her with gaunt fingers, turning up one cheek. Maddy hesitated, and then bent and gave her a brief kiss. Lady de Marly started to let go, and then grasped the duke’s signet, lifting it upright on Maddy’s finger. “Is this the best you could do, Jervaulx? For heaven’s sake, boy, get her a proper wedding ring.”

“
Will
,” he agreed.

Maddy withdrew her hand as Lady de Marly released it. She went to the door, already not looking forward to the long walk down dim corridors and across the dark hall.

“It’s the other door, girl,” Lady de Marly said irritably. “Don’t open that one—you’ll let the chill in!”

Maddy faltered. She was quite certain that this was the correct door.

“Maddy,” the duke said. She looked at him. He inclined his head toward an entrance that she had not used before.

Obediently, she crossed the room and opened that door. It led into a room as magnificent as all the rest—a bedroom, done in the phoenix colors of white and blue. Above the formidable tall bed, a golden coronet crowned the canopy.

Belatedly, she realized what it meant. She stopped in the doorway. This was Jervaulx’s chamber.

She turned around and came out. “I prefer—”

Lady de Marly interrupted her. “Nonsense,” she said, as if she knew exactly what Maddy had intended to say. “Why should he have to chase you across half the county? Sleep in there, girl. There’ll be years enough ahead for your own chamber.”

Jervaulx said nothing. He stood in the middle of the room, his hands locked behind his back, tall and elegant. He just looked at her, deep blue eyes and mystery.

“Years enough, girl,” Lady de Marly repeated, in a voice that had grown old and timeworn. “You mark my words.”

Maddy sat up in a gilt chair with a knobbed and railed back, well calculated to prevent anyone from falling asleep. The duke’s bedchamber had a more lived-in look than any of the others she had seen. In addition to the intimidating bed and the coronet, a low case held books that lay tilted and piled on one another as if they were used often; stacks of papers and journals on a writing desk before the window had the look of real work instead of company show.

An oil lamp was lit there. The neat banking of each pile seemed likely to Maddy to be a servant’s contribution rather than Jervaulx’s. She recalled the quick disarray he had made of the study at St.

Matthew’s and felt sympathy for the responsible maid, who would have to take care not to displace anything in her tidying, no doubt caught between the housekeeper’s standards and the duke’s jumble, which he would certainly claim was perfectly organized in his own abstruse system. Maddy was familiar with such arrangements. It would consist entirely of shoving whatever he was not working on out of the way, heaping more work on top of that, creating another stack for a new project, pushing them back and forth as needed, taking the top off of one and putting it onto another when a journal was required from the bottom of the first, and then blaming the servants for their meddling rearrangements when some necessary paper could not be found.

She looked mostly at the desk, because she felt embarrassed to look at the paintings. They were just what Friends found worst about the vain representation of worldly things. Even the ostensibly religious ones were lascivious—one whole wall was covered with a full-length figure of Eve, the apple at her feet and only a coyly placed hand for covering. There was a panel of women bathing in a stream, with satyrs peeking from the woods around, and one of Lady Godiva riding through the city on a white horse, with her hair spread, concealing more of the horse than herself.

The only work Maddy could observe without blushing outright was a small painting of a young woman in a Dutch headdress, turning toward the viewer as if surprised in the act of observing herself in the looking glass she held. Her smile was a blend of self-consciousness, mischief and welcome, so real, and with such shy pleasure in it that it made one want to smile in return. Maddy looked at that one for a long time, beguiled by the magic of mere paint and flat canvas made into such a living presence.

The table next to her chair held a decanter and glass, and several miniatures, all of ladies. She supposed they must be his sisters, though they did not much resemble the ladies Maddy had seen. Next to one was a watch glass with no watch, but instead a lock of bright yellow hair pressed within it. Not one of his sisters had yellow hair.

She stood up and went close to the little painting of the girl and the looking glass, trying to distinguish the brushstrokes that created the impression. It hung close to the wainscot, so that she had to lean down to look. As she bent there, the door opened softly. Maddy turned around.

Jervaulx closed the door behind the dogs, who both trotted forward, gave Maddy a brief greeting and then leaped upon the bed, curling up at the foot with the familiarity of long possession. Jervaulx stood a moment, looking at her. “Like the girl… paint?” he asked.

“It’s a very creditable image,” she said.

“Credit… Rembrandt.”

“Oh, yes. He is very famous, is he not?”

“Somewhat.” He seemed amused.

“I don’t know much of paintings,” she said shyly. “We aren’t to have them.”

“No?” He came close and stood beside her, looking at the portrait. “Why?”

She frowned a little. “The Bible says no graven image. And they are—creaturely.” She cast a quick meaningful glance round the room. There was hardly a collection of images conceivable which could have been called more creaturely than his.

“I… like them,” he said, and smiled, and touched her cheek lightly—and kissed her.

Maddy stepped back, moistening her lips. “Thy aunt is retired? I should go.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Stay. She is… there.”

“This is a very awkward arrangement.” Maddy made a helpless gesture toward the adjacent drawing room.

“Old…
fashion
. Great chamber… withdrawing room… bedroom.” He made three marks in the air, lined in a row. “Old lords… eating feasting great chamber… after eat… ah—ate… they ate…
then
invite… friends… withdraw private to—drawing.” He nodded back toward the drawing room. “It was… sign of favor. Good friends only… invited. Same… the same… never changed here. Great Chamber… to drawing… to bedroom. Old fashion, Jervaulx. Hundreds years.”

“Still, it is awkward now. Perhaps thou art weary, and wish to go to bed.”

He shrugged off his coat. “Gone days, the best of friend… invited… all the way… come into… here.”

He swept out his coat in a bow. “High honor to… you.”

“I should depart. Is there another way I might go out?”

He laid the garment over a chair and started to unbutton his waistcoat, then dropped his hand. He looked at her. “Can’t… fasten.”

One button was already undone. Maddy pursed her lips. “Thou canst. Thou ought to begin to try.”

“I can’t,” he said serenely. “You.” He came and stood in front of her, his sleeves white and full, the waistcoat exquisitely embroidered with tiny silver flowers, a contrast with the solid masculine outline of his body.

He was so matter-of-fact that it was hard to be uncomfortable. She reached up and undid the buttons, then loosened his neckcloth. There were buttons on his cream-colored trousers, too, but she ignored them. When she finished, he moved promptly away, leaving her with the waistcoat and neckcloth.

She relaxed a little more, catching up his coat and carrying the clothes into the dressing closet. When she came back, he was sitting on the chaise lounge, leaning down to remove his shoes.

His shirt loose and his collar open, half-dressed and cavalier, he stretched his legs out on the chaise and leaned his head back. “Tired,” he said, and gave a deep sigh. “Plague of… she-dragon.”

The last trace of Maddy’s unease vanished. “She has a forceful character,” she said with a small smile.

He reached and dragged the desk chair next to him. “You sit… me.”

Maddy sat down. Perhaps it was best to stay a while longer, to make certain his aunt had left. She folded her hands in her lap.

He looked at her sideways. “Prim… Maddygirl.” Before she could prevent him, he leaned over and tweaked her skirt aside, revealing her sturdy shoes and woolen stockings beneath the elegant blue silk.

“Off,” he said, and sat up. He bent down and began to unfasten them.

“Indeed thou
canst
unfasten,” she said in accusation.

He grunted noncommittally, holding her ankle when she tried to pull her foot away. “Let,” he said firmly.

His hand was warm and solid on her, unyielding. Maddy bit her lip and stopped resisting. He took off her shoes and tossed them one by one away. “Done-up, Maddygirl?” He clasped her feet within his palms and lifted them onto his lap, rubbing his thumbs into the arches.