Say Yes to the Duke (19 page)

Of course, she was hoping to see Mr. Callahan as much as she was the puppies and Oscar.

No,
more.

She felt guilty about that fact when she pulled open the door to the stables and stepped
inside, comforted by the familiar smell of horse and hay and the warmth that pervaded
the space. Esmeralda was her delightful, wagging self. Her babies, their eyes closed
tight, had each managed to roll and scoot at least a foot from their mother. Aaron,
the junior groom, and Oscar laughed with Janice over their antics.

“Where’s Mr. Callahan?” she asked outright. The question wouldn’t draw attention,
she was sure, as he was the person who’d found Esmeralda in the first place and arranged
her bed.

“He’s in Bramblewood,” said Oscar. “Stranded with Sir Milo, who refused to be stranded
here. He said it wasn’t as interesting a place to be as the pub there. So he asked
His Grace if he could take Luke to serve as both valet and groom.”

“Oh.” Janice tried not to be disappointed. But she was, terribly. “When is he coming
back?”

“When Sir Milo sends him,” said Aaron. “It could be a few days.”

“I see.” Janice’s heart sank. But perhaps it was a good thing. She needed to forget
about the groom.

She
must.

What was she doing seeking him out, other than torturing herself?

Back in the drawing room at Halsey House, she was determined to read—hoping she’d
forget about him—while sitting next to Mrs. Friday, who was working on her sampler.
It was a verse about love, and at the bottom the assiduous chaperone had stitched
her late husband’s name entwined with her own.

But gazing at it made Janice remember that the night before she and Luke Callahan
had been entwined, too, in their own way.

So she focused on watching the duke, Lord Rowntree, and Lord Yarrow play cards. The
other women, who always seemed to be bickering, lingered behind them, making nuisances
of themselves by looking over the men’s shoulders and making supposedly cryptic comments
about the hands the men had been dealt.

“That’s quite enough interference, ladies,” Halsey eventually said to them in a clipped
voice. “Find something else to do.”

The women pouted about their dismissal but sat at another table together and began
to play whist. A few blessedly quiet moments passed—although for Janice they dragged
because she was desperate to see Mr. Callahan—and then the clock on the mantel chimed.

It was half past two.

“That’s enough.” The duke threw down his cards. “We’ve played too long.”

“But you’re ruining this hand,” Lord Yarrow protested.

“You’ll live,” said His Grace. “We’re not playing for high stakes anyway.”

“Not today, maybe, but it’s bad form—,” Lord Yarrow began.

Lord Rowntree sent him a threatening look.

“Lady Janice,” His Grace called to her, “if I might have a word!”

She noted that his tone was warm, much warmer than it had been to her yesterday or
today, to the other women. Not only that, the look he threw her was charming, attentive.
He was, in fact, a new man toward her—but he was the same intimidating duke to everyone
else.

She was thrilled that her strategy of saying no was working so well.

“Your Grace?” She refused to say the word
yes
to him—ever.

“Would you like to take that tour now—the one you missed yesterday, of the conservatory
and the portrait gallery?”

“No, thank you.” She was actually at a particularly enjoyable part of her book, but
it would be unkind to use that as an excuse.

The room was silent.

“May I ask why you won’t go?” He angled his head, and for a moment again … he was
Pan … hot, earthy Pan. His finely tailored clothes did little to disguise his sensual
nature.

Oh, dear. She had to think of an excuse fast, and it was most awkward.
For him, not
you, a small portion of her brain reminded her. She was gaining some authority—true
power—and with it came the knowledge that it was often uncomfortable to exercise this
power.

“Mrs. Friday is in the middle of a difficult stitch.” Janice ignored the stares of
the other guests. “I don’t want to interrupt her.”

Mrs. Friday laughed. “Why, Lady Janice, I’ll be happy to set it aside for now. If
I do, will you go?”

She was such a cheerful woman.

“I suppose I will,” said Janice. “There’s a particular portrait that intrigues me.”

“It’s about time,” Miss Branson said under her breath.

“Very good.” The duke didn’t smile, but his mouth angled up the slightest bit.

A few moments later, he showed no signs of resenting Mrs. Friday’s presence as they
walked through wide, luxurious corridors to the conservatory, a truly splendid room.

“So much glass!” exclaimed Mrs. Friday.

“And the plants are beautiful.” Janice looked round in wonder. “To be able to walk
among them when there’s snow outside is such a gift.”

“I’m glad you think so,” said the duke. “Wait till you see the stove house at the
dower house. The orchids are stunning. But they need constant tending. I spend a small
fortune maintaining that hobby for Granny.”

“I look forward to touring it.” Janice felt genuinely drawn to him for the first time.
“Does Her Grace ever go over to see them?”

“No.” He plucked a bay leaf and put it in his pocket. “She has a Bath chair, but she
much prefers to stay in her room. On occasion, I’ll bring her an orchid in a pot.”

“I’m sure she loves that.” Janice thought his carrying an orchid to her was such a
special gesture. But she also wondered why he said the dowager preferred to stay in
her room. She’d made it very clear to Janice that she didn’t. “Wouldn’t she like to
come down here to see the plants?”

“No.” Halsey gave a light shrug. “She gets too agitated. If she tells you otherwise,
you mustn’t believe her.”

“Oh.” What he said made sense, but Janice thought it was terribly sad.

So did Mrs. Friday. She had a sheen of tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Their host raked a hand through his hair and sighed. “Granny’s situation
is painful. It isn’t easy for her or for anyone.”

Mrs. Friday bit her lip. “We understand, Your Grace.” She turned to examine an orange
tree, no doubt to give him a moment to recover.

“Of course.” Janice turned away, too, to admire the same tree.

There was a moment’s awkward silence.

“But we can cheer her up,” he said.

He was trying so hard, wasn’t he? That did more to win Janice’s approval than anything
he’d done yet. She and Mrs. Friday exchanged pitying glances.

“When it stops snowing so hard”—he wore an earnest, serious expression—“we’ll take
that sleigh ride over to the dower house, and I’ll let you pick out the perfect bloom
for her, my lady. Will you do that?”

“No, thank you, Your Grace.” Janice winced at Mrs. Friday. “I can’t.”

“No?” The duke couldn’t disguise his astonishment.

Without even knowing what Janice was about, Mrs. Friday stepped in. “She only says
no because she can’t bear to choose between them, Your Grace.” Her tone was light.
“Isn’t that right, Lady Janice?”

“I’m terrible at choosing.” Janice sent her friend a grateful look, then turned to
the duke. “I’ll pick out three orchids, Your Grace, and leave the final selection
to you.”

“Very well.” But the warmth in his eyes had slightly cooled.

So they’d taken a step backward. Or was it forward? Janice couldn’t be sure. She wished
she could go to the dowager right now and speak to her while she was channeling the
Queen. Janice wanted to tell Her Majesty that she was having strong second thoughts
about her strategy to win her grandson.

But until Janice and her mentor had that conversation, she’d continue saying no to
the Duke of Halsey, who from all appearances—ducal quirks aside—was as fine a man
as his reputation in London suggested. All he needed was a wife to weed out the hangers-on
and to teach him patience.

Janice could do that.

Up in the portrait gallery a few minutes later, she went straight to the portrait
of the woman in love. “Who is this woman?” Janice couldn’t help smiling when she saw
her. “She’s such a bright light. A wit, I can tell. And she appears to be madly in
love. She has a glow about her.”

“She’s my grandmother as a young duchess,” Halsey said.

“Oh,” Janice breathed. “She was remarkable.”

“She was. And
is,
” he added. “She loved my grandfather very much.”

Mrs. Friday was as fascinated by the painting as Janice was.

They strolled by all the other portraits, and the duke was so entertaining that Janice
was completely overwhelmed with this new favorable impression of him.

“Thank you,” she said at the end of the tour. He’d been such a gentleman.

“It was my pleasure.” He gave her a slight bow.

How gratifying, to be bowed to by a duke!

Mrs. Friday descended the wide staircase to the main hall slightly ahead of them.
About halfway down, Halsey slowed and Janice slowed with him.

“I just want to tell you,” he said, “that the glow you mentioned in my grandmother…”
He paused, seeming to search for the right words.

She waited patiently.

“You have a glow, too,” he said. “I couldn’t help but notice it today. When you walked
into the drawing room, no one could look away. Including myself.”

Janice’s face got so hot, she was sure it was red. “Th-thank you, Your Grace,” she
murmured, embarrassed at the lavishness of his compliment. Yet it was also extremely
kind—

Everything an unmarried young woman wanted to hear from a duke.

She took another few steps. His Grace followed at her side.
Future husband,
a wicked voice in her head teased her.

But Janice had to wonder: Was he inventing that impression of her? Or did last night’s
interlude with Mr. Callahan literally change her appearance?

She recalled Isobel’s words from that morning, as well as Mrs. Friday’s. Surely her
rosy cheeks and lips had dimmed by the time she’d entered the drawing room a few hours
later. And she’d been in that terrible funk because a groom named Luke Callahan had
left the estate.

It was all very confusing—unless she credited the dowager’s secret strategy of saying
no for actually working.

Why not?

Mrs. Friday reached the bottom of the stairs and looked up at them expectantly. “I’ve
always been a fast walker,” she said with spirit, and laughed.

She was such a delightful person, and she knew just what to say when the moment called
for it.

Halsey excused himself when they reached the bottom of the stairs. “It’s time to see
my grandmother.” He held on to the banister, prepared to go right back up again.

“Oh, that’s right.” It touched Janice, how thoughtful he was. She still felt very
flustered by his remarks on the stairs. “Please send Her Grace my best.”

“I will.” He raised Mrs. Friday’s hand to his mouth and kissed it. Then he did the
same for Janice. “I’ll see you both at dinner.” He smiled again.

And when he turned his back and climbed the stairs, Janice and Mrs. Friday exchanged
another glance.

He’s wonderful,
mouthed Mrs. Friday.

Janice smiled, understanding, and looked up at his retreating back.
Fall in love with him
, she told herself.
Fall in
love.

But her heart refused to be stirred.

Chapter Sixteen

It was the following morning, and until Luke Callahan returned to the estate Janice
couldn’t think. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t sleep or care how well her campaign
with the duke was going, although it seemed to be going very well.

One thing she could still do while the groom was gone was continue saying no. And
she was getting better at it. As she invented creative answers to avoid blatantly
insulting His Grace, she realized she was being like Mama, the queen of saying no.

But until she’d come here to Halsey House, Janice had never noticed this trait in
her mother. And come to think of it, Marcia said no very easily, too. It seemed that
both Mama and Marcia had very strong opinions and, captivating as they were, they
adhered to those personal sentiments.

Perhaps saying no was actually the very essence of their charm!

Janice, on the other hand, had always tried to be agreeable. But what was
agreeable,
really? How treasured were smiles and nods that came from a person who didn’t know
her own feelings—or, if she did, didn’t value them enough to protect them?

Was saying no what she had to learn in the country? Janice was beginning to wonder.…

She spent the entire morning searching for Emily March’s journal on the duke’s library
bookshelves, but she came up with nothing. Neither did Isobel. Which meant the escritoires
were next, and after that Janice wasn’t certain. She’d have to do some subtle probing
of the occupants of the house, starting with the dowager.

When Janice entered her bedchamber, the Queen was presiding over her own version of
Court. The throne of pillows behind her supported her tiny body well. “You again,”
she drawled, her gaze flinty.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Janice curtsied. “Good morning.”

The dowager threw out a lazy finger, indicating that Janice might sit in the chair
by the bed.

Janice did as she was told. She was dying to tell her that she loved the duchess’s
portrait, but she was afraid the comment might confuse her.

“I’ll have a song this morning,” said the old lady. “I haven’t heard one this age.”

“A song?” Janice was somehow surprised.

“Can you not hear me? Or is this willful disobedience on your part? Court’s been rather
dull. Get to it.”

Janice was well aware of the presence of the nurse behind her back. “Well, if you
don’t have a preference—”

“Stop dillydallying,” snapped the dowager.

“All right.” Janice cleared her throat. “‘Good morning, pretty maid,’” she sang, “‘Where
are you going?’”