How to Please a Lady (26 page)

Rose brought Moonrise beside his gelding, a handsome boy he'd named Fleck due to the light spots across his nose. “I wish we could stop time and stay here forever,” Rose said, as she looked out onto the Sound. “It's so lovely, Charlie.”

“The minute I saw the farm, I knew I had to have it. At the time, it was very dear and I was hardly able to afford it. My banker thought it was a rather foolish investment, but I'm glad it's mine. Ours, soon, love.”

Rose grinned. “Ours. That's a lovely word.”

Charlie looked at Rose as she gazed out over the water. She was so damned lovely, and she was finally his. Their children would grow up on this land, would learn to ride and swim. By God, he couldn't wait for the future and all it promised.

As if reading his mind, Rose turned to him. “I just realized something, Charlie. We're going to have children.”

“I do hope so.”

“I didn't think I would. I . . .”

“You're not going to turn into a watering pot again, are you?” He never felt as helpless as when Rose was crying and he couldn't yet tell the difference between happy tears and sad tears.

“No,” she said, smiling, but her eyes were tear-filled.

They spent the afternoon exploring his estate and the evening making love. At odd times, Charlie would blink hard, just to make certain he wasn't in some sort of wonderful dream. How could it be that Rose was beside him in his bed, as he'd dreamed so many lonely nights, as he'd pictured her with her husband. She would be his forever and that thought made his heart swell in his chest to the point of pain.

At around midnight that night, Rose sat up after briefly sleeping, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, looking so lovely it was all Charlie could do not to drag her back down and make love to her again. He was becoming aroused just looking at her, something she noticed with a smile.

“Oh, no, sir, I am famished. I'm going down to your kitchen for some food.” She hopped out of bed, screaming a bit when he tried to draw her back.

“I'm too tired to follow you,” he said, grinning at her as she wrapped herself up in his dressing gown. It was far too big for her and she looked absolutely adorable. He watched as she lit a small lamp, the light hitting her lovely face. He was daft over her, he realized, and grinned like a fool.

“I'll bring you back something,” she said, then leaned over and kissed him, a kiss that lasted far longer than Rose intended, no doubt. Finally, she withdrew, giving him a sleepy smile.

“Food, sir.”

 

Rose headed down to the kitchens, already familiar with Charlie's home, her bare feet making small slapping sounds on the smooth wood floors. Holding the small lamp to light her way, she moved quietly, not wanting to wake any of the staff, and headed directly to the pantry. His kitchen was large and airy, with an enormous preparation table in the center. It was well equipped and modern, and Rose had to smile when she thought about how her own cook, Mrs. Faring, would sell her soul for such a kitchen. Attached to the far end of the table was one of Charlie's famous can openers, which Rose had promised Mrs. Faring she would purchase for her after the cook mentioned that not having such a gadget put her at a disadvantage to other cooks in the neighborhood.

She went over to the opener, took the handle, and gave it a whirl, smiling at how smoothly the thing moved. Charlie was so very clever, she thought, watching the gears move effortlessly against one another. That's when she noticed the flower decorating the base, and her heart stilled. Poppies. Her favorite flowers were beautifully embossed on this utilitarian piece, making it almost lovely.

She stared at that decoration a long moment, her throat working, her eyes burning. Charlie had told her he loved her, had loved her for years, but she supposed she hadn't recognized the reality of those words until she saw those poppies. He'd loved her even after she'd married Daniel, even after he must have known she was lost to him forever. He'd decorated his kitchen tools with a poppy, her favorite flower, and the heartbreaking pain of that forced a sob from her throat.

“Oh, Charlie,” she said, touching the decoration with her fingers.

“What is it, love?”

She looked up through watery eyes and laughed, embarrassed suddenly to be once again crying happy tears and terrifying the man she loved above all things. “They're poppies,” she said.

“Yes.”

“My favorite flower.”

“Are they?” he said with a smile, walking toward her.

“You knew they were. And you decorated your tools with them. I feel horrid. And happy, but mostly horrid to know, oh, Charlie, to know how your heart must have broken when I married Daniel. I'm so sorry.” She threw herself into his arms, once again wetting his shirt with her tears.

“Don't, love. You didn't know. You couldn't know.”

“I should have,” she said fiercely, grabbing a bit of his shirt in her hands.

“Please stop crying, Rose.”

She sniffed and looked up at him. “Five years. I could have been with you all these five years.”

“And by now you'd be quite sick of me. I do have some terrible habits, you know.”

“Oh?”

“When no one's looking, I use my knife as a fork. And I belch when it pleases me. Once I scratched myself in a very private place on a public street. No one saw, but still it was not the thing. I'm not a gentleman, Rose, though I can pretend I am well enough to fool these American blokes.”

“Everyone belches and gets itchy, Charlie.” She swallowed some air the way her brothers had taught her years ago, much to her mother's horror, and let out a noisy belch.

“Ah, my perfect girl,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “Not very ladylike.”

“No. But it's me, Charlie.”

“I love that me.”

She laughed and kissed him, feeling as if her heart were free for the first time in her life. She scratched an itch and laughed again, knowing she'd never be anything but herself, knowing she'd always have Charlie to remind her who she truly was—a woman completely over-the-moon in love.

R
ose went through the post as she did every morning, hoping for a letter from Stephen. She hadn't heard from him in weeks and was rather cross that he hadn't written. Perhaps he thought he needn't write as he was planning to visit shortly after the birth of their baby, but that wouldn't be for several weeks. She planned to write to her brother immediately if she didn't receive a letter soon.

And then she smiled.

“Good news?” Charlie asked, putting aside the newspaper. They sat in his breakfast room—now theirs—having decided his home was better for a couple planning to have a large family. They woke early each morning and breakfasted together before Charlie headed to his office. He'd completed his design for the locomotive and production was going to begin in a week. Rose had never seen Charlie so nervous. He'd worked endless hours, leaving early and coming home late, getting ready to manufacture his design. Already he'd garnered interest from some of the most important men in the country, and for Rose it was all rather thrilling.

“I've a letter from Stephen,” she said, opening it quickly and scanning the contents for any momentous news. Her brother had a tendency to bury the most important bits at the end of his letters. Rose read, growing still as she read her brother's words.

“What's wrong?” Charlie asked, apparently noticing the blood leave her face.

“Weston's dead,” she said, and then read, “ ‘His Grace met his end at the hand of his sister-in-law.'” Rose looked up. “Oh, my goodness.” She continued to read. “It says, ‘The duchess claimed her sister was jealous of her marriage and murdered the duke out of spite. There is an investigation and many here doubt Her Grace's story, but her sister has disappeared and some think it's foul play.' ” She looked up. “I can't believe Weston's dead.”

“Good riddance,” Charlie said, stabbing a piece of sausage.

“That poor girl. I've always felt sorry for her. She was only sixteen when she married him.”

“Poor girl is right,” Charlie said.

“I wonder what happened to the sister. Do you think she was murdered, too? It's all very exciting. And tragic, of course.”

“I expect we'll find out in due time. Did you ever meet the girl?”

Rose shook her head. “She wasn't even out when she married the duke. I don't know what her parents must have been thinking.”

“That they'd have a duke for a son-in-law,” Charlie said pragmatically.

“I think having you as a son-in-law is much better.”

Charlie gave her a skeptical look. She'd written her mother and father about her marriage and hadn't heard a single word, not in the nine months they'd been married. It did hurt a bit, but Rose tried not to let it bother her. If they believed marriage to a horrible man like Weston was better than marriage to a wonderful, kind man like Charlie, they were not worth even thinking about.

Rose went back to the beginning of the letter, her brows furrowed as Stephen recounted an attempt to visit Marcus. Apparently, the estate he was living on was quite old and in disrepair. The one servant that Stephen had seen pretended he didn't know who Marcus was.

Rose put aside the letter when she felt her baby moving about. “I think the baby enjoyed breakfast and is ready to romp,” she said, holding her hand over her stomach.

Charlie, smiling broadly, reached over and laid his hand over hers. “He's a feisty little man this morning,” he said, leaning over to kiss her. Rose looked down at his hand, a workman's hand, strong and broad, his wedding band somehow making it look even more appealing. Just like that, her eyes filled with tears, and she laughed at herself.

“Crying again, love?”

She nodded and swallowed. “Every time I think about how lucky I am to have you, I start to cry.”

He chuckled and gave her a lingering kiss. “Cry all you want, just as long as they're always happy tears.”

“They will be, Charlie. Always.”

Jane Goodger's Lost Heiresses series continues with
LADY LOST,
coming from Lyrical in October.
Read on for an excerpt!

L
ilian had never quite felt so out of sorts in her life. Her head still reeled when she stood, and she nearly fainted dead away after she'd used the chamber pot. What a lovely sight that would have been, to have someone come in and find her so discomposed. With bare feet, she carefully padded over to the window and drew back the thick, velvet curtains, revealing an overcast day and a stunning view of the Black Sea. Lilian had never seen anything quite so lovely as when a sharp needle of sunlight pierced through a rare opening in the clouds and lit a patch of the sea below.

“Good, you're up and about. You may leave now.”

Lilian let out a small scream at the unexpected arrival of a man, no doubt Lord Granton. Not only because he startled her, but because she was standing wearing nothing but her shift and bloomers. Keeping her back to him and turning her head slightly, she said, “Sir, can you not see that I am unclothed?”

“I'm covering my eyes with my hands,” he said blandly.

Lilian peeked behind her and gasped. “You are not,” she said. He was not smiling, as one would expect from a man who was such a prankster. He simply stared at her, his expression unreadable, almost as if he were completely unaware of how improper he was acting. “Will you please turn around so that I may get back into bed, Lord Granton?”

He gave her a small bow, then turned. Lilian sidled to the bed, just in case his lordship decided to spin around, but he remained still, almost at attention, as she moved as quickly as she could to the bed and pulled the covers to her chin, her head spinning slightly from the movement.

“You may turn around now.”

“May I?” he said, mockingly. “Thank you. I am glad to see you up and about. As I said, you may now leave.”

He'd not moved farther into the room, but remained just inside the door, looking at her with a frown as she efficiently bundled her thick curls into a loose bun. He was a tall man and younger than she'd thought, with thick, dark hair and piercing eyes an unusual golden brown. Despite her nervousness, Lilian couldn't help but note he was uncommonly handsome, though he was in need of a shave.

“This is my room,” he said as explanation.

“Oh, I'm so sorry, my lord. I didn't know. I do appreciate your hospitality and of course, saving me from the moors. I fear I don't remember what happened or even how I came to be here.”

“I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, as you know my name, but I do not as yet know yours. Who are you?”

“Sadie did not tell you?”

“Obviously not, as I am asking you.”

Lilian swallowed down a bit of fear. Lord Granton was known to be a hard man and she was certainly seeing proof of that now. What would he do if he knew who she was? Perhaps Sadie had not heard of the duke's murder, but Granton certainly would have. Feeling tears pressing against her eyes, she looked down to the coverlet and worried the soft material between her fingers before looking up again, straight into his stony expression. “I am Lady Lilian Martin.”

She watched him carefully. She'd certainly surprised him, but that was all. “Your sister is Weston's wife. You were the older one, the one who escaped.”

Oh, God. He knew. He knew and he would turn her in. Of course, he would. That's what any man confronted with an accused murderess would do. “Yes,” she managed to say, though her throat was constricted with fear.

“I pitied your poor sister,” Marcus said blandly. “My own sister escaped marriage to Weston. Do you know that story?”

Lilian was besieged with confusion. Why was he talking about his sister escaping … He didn't know! He'd been talking about escaping marriage, not the authorities. She nodded quickly, trying very hard not to smile, for that would have been completely inappropriate given the topic of their conversation.

“What are you doing out here, my lady? I daresay it is not the usual place to find the daughter of a peer.”

Lilian had a strong distaste for lying, and so gave the gentleman an honest answer. “I was living with my sister and we had a falling out,” she said, swallowing down an unexpected and horrifying urge to laugh. “I was on my way to visit my stepfather in Scotland, but ran out of funds.”

“And clothing.”

She could feel herself blush. “I left rather hastily, my lord.”

“Indeed.”

Lilian tried not to fidget beneath his level gaze, but it was impossible not to. He had a way of looking at a person that somehow made one feel self-conscious.

“It appears you have recovered adequately,” he said after a long moment. “You may leave immediately. I don't enjoy guests and am not set up to receive them. I have no other room for you.” He moved his lips slightly upward and Lilian thought that perhaps he was attempting a smile politely to lessen the blow of his words.

“I would like nothing more than to be on my way,” Lilian said. “But I have no clothes and no shoes. Certainly you would not send me out onto the moors in my shift.”

Something dark flickered in his eyes. “No, I would not. I will talk to Sadie about procuring an appropriate dress.” He looked as though he were about to leave, but stopped. “You fainted twice, my lady. Is there any chance you could be with child?”

Lilian's jaw dropped slightly. “There is none. Unless it is a second immaculate conception, my lord.”

He gave her a long look before letting out a soft burst of air, almost a laugh but not quite. “If I don't see you again, my lady, I wish you well in your travels.”

He stepped out of the door, a short journey indeed, for he hadn't gone into the room more than a few feet, leaving Lilian to stare at his departing back in shock. Had she ever in her life met a more disagreeable man? Actually, thinking of Weston, she most certainly had.

 

Genny Hayes could charm a bear away from a pot of honey. But raised in the forests of Yosemite, she's met precious few men to practice her smiles upon. Until a marvelously handsome photographer appears in her little corner of the wilderness and she convinces him to take her clear across the country and over the seas to England, where she has a titled grandmother and grandfather waiting to claim her. On their whirlwind journey, she'll have the chance to bedazzle and befuddle store clerks and train robbers, society matrons and big city reporters, maids and madams, but the one man she most wants to beguile seems determined to play the gentleman and leave her untouched. Until love steps in and knocks them both head over heels . . .