An American Duchess Page 8

  “Don’t you have a secretary or steward who does that for you?”

  “Brideswell does have men in both those positions. However, I like to see for myself.”

  “Do you? That surprises me.”

  “Brideswell is my responsibility, first and foremost. In addition, Beelzebub needs to be ridden.”

  “I’d like to go. I rode a mare named Daisy yesterday. Give me a minute, and I’ll get her saddled up and join you. I’d like to see what it’s like to be the tenant of a great house.”

  “Probably no different than a manual worker or farmer in America,” he responded drily. “I thought my mother and Grandmama were taking you around for social visits.”

  “For the past two days, that’s all I’ve done. I’ve met every peer within shooting distance. I’ve had battles with your grandmother over everything from tea to motorcars to music to the peerage. As to the last, I think it’s useless. Your grandmother thinks the world would collapse without it.” She smiled, and then a concerned look touched her face.

  “Your mother is very kind,” she said, “but I can tell she is very sad and in pain over your brother. It’s...awkward.”

  “Awkward because the engagement is a farce.”

  “I’d rather be honest about it. I think that would be for the best. Even for your mother.”

  “No,” he said softly. Dangerously. “It would not.”

  “Can I come with you?”

  He should say no. But it was not his head thinking when he said, “Yes.”

  He watched her walk away to dress for riding with her jaunty, strong stride. She behaved as if the kiss had been of no account. It hadn’t seemed to unsettle her at all.

  But as she’d said, kissing meant practically nothing to American girls.

  The trouble was that kissing Miss Gifford had meant something to him. And it shouldn’t.

  * * *

  The clouds she’d flown through earlier were thicker now and a darker gray. Zoe shivered as she trotted Daisy beside the duke and Beelzebub.

  Two days ago, the Duke of Langford had saved her life and kissed her senseless. It had all burst into a kind of explosion. Reporters had been swarming; flashbulbs went off. Sebastian had pulled Langford back and punched him. All hell had broken loose after that. People streamed out of Murray’s, hoping to see a brawl.

  There hadn’t been one. The duke had not retaliated. She had taken care of a drunken Sebastian, pulling him away. The duke had taken hold of Julia, who was tending to his bleeding nose. Not caring about his injury, the duke had insisted they all spend the night at the Savoy.

  Julia had apologized. “Nothing like this has ever happened. Sebastian frustrates Nigel—that’s what he’s always done, but they’ve never hit each other.”

  “They did on the first night I arrived.”

  Julia had been startled. “Nigel said he got those bruises when he walked into a door in the dark. But they were actually fighting?”

  “They were,” Zoe had said. And she’d felt guilt. For ten seconds, and then she’d been angry. She didn’t want them punching each other over her. She was supposed to have a simple arrangement with Sebastian. Why did the men have to have such hot emotions over it?

  Why had she kissed Langford back?

  She’d never kissed a man who irritated her, who drove her mad, who disapproved of her. She’d never had any need to. There were enough men who had liked her.

  “We stop here, Miss Gifford,” Langford said, and he reined in in front of a small cottage. Roses rambled up the walls, covered with tight buds tipped with red and pink.

  As Zoe dismounted, the duke came close to her. “Mrs. Billings lives here,” he said. “She lost all four of her sons to the War.”

  Zoe put her hand to her mouth. “All her sons, gone?”

  Langford nodded. “They were the only family she had. Her husband died during the War, too. His heart gave out.”

  She stared at the house. Curtains of grayish-white lace hung in the windows, old but tidy. “How could anyone live through that much pain?”

  “I don’t know,” he said simply.

  He straightened his coat and smoothed his shirtfront. It surprised her how much Langford tidied himself up before rapping on the door to the humble cottage. Zoe expected to meet a grieving woman, seated despondently in a chair, surrounded by cobwebs. Instead a plump woman with gray hair and a round, flushed face saw them and dropped into a curtsy. “Yer Grace, how honored I am to have ye visit. I’ll put the kettle on.”

  Langford dipped his head to step through the low door. “I don’t want to trouble you, Mrs. Billings.”

  “’Tis no trouble at all, Yer Grace. Won’t you have a seat in the parlor? I’ve barn cakes, fresh today. I remembered this was the day of the month ye usually stop by,” she said with a fond smile.

  “Then I am a fortunate man.”

  Langford looked truly anticipatory, delighted to get what must be a treat. When he could have anything he wanted made by the cook at Brideswell. The cottage was filled with heat and steam. Zoe stepped in, too, and Langford introduced her. As Sebastian’s fiancée, which startled her. She didn’t know why—that was what she was. The woman beamed but kept staring at Zoe’s trousers until she bustled out of the room to her tiny kitchen.

  As Mrs. Billings made tea, Zoe walked around the parlor. It was a quaint room with a stone hearth, a low-timbered ceiling, simple furniture. What looked out of place were four photographs in silver frames. They were images of four young, handsome men. Zoe picked one up.

  “Photographs were taken of all men before they left for the Front. A woman like Mrs. Billings would have had no record of her lads otherwise. I ensured they were framed for her.”

  “That was...very good of you.” It was clear that the poor woman couldn’t have afforded a photograph and frame.

  A yellowed paper sat on the mantel beneath the first photograph. Zoe unfolded it and the words leaped up at her. It was an army form, with the information filled in by pen. The soldier’s name, number, rank. Then the cold words: The report is to the effect that he was killed in action. There were words of regret and a message of sympathy from Their Gracious Majesties the King and Queen.

  She couldn’t swallow. Her throat was too tight. They had received a letter for Billy. Mother kept it tucked in with Billy’s picture in a locket that she never wore, but had instead wrapped in a lace handkerchief. Zoe knew Mother took it out, sometimes at night, clasped it to her heart and cried.

  War gave you the knowledge that every good thing in life—beauty, fun, security, pleasures, love—could be gone. So you had to dance harder, drive faster, pack everything in.

  Beneath her leather jacket, Zoe felt hot and was perspiring. “It’s steamy in here.”

  Langford turned—he was standing at the window, far from her. His blue eyes looked somber. “With her boys gone, she takes in laundry to earn money.”

  She stared at him. “She is forced to take in laundry?” Zoe left the room and went to the kitchen doorway where the most heat billowed out. Mrs. Billings had her back to her, arranging cakes on a plate. Steel tubs sat everywhere, filled with sudsy water.

  Zoe hurried back to the living room to confront Langford. “How can you let her do manual labor after she has sacrificed her sons for this country? Surely you could help Mrs. Billings. A monthly amount or something invested—”

  “Give me money? Why would His Grace do that?” Carrying in a simple tea tray, Mrs. Billings looked mortified. “My laundry provides for me. I won’t take charity.”

  “But you should not have to work your fingers to the bone,” Zoe protested.

  But Mrs. Billings was adamant.

  “It’s not charity to take money to help you because you sacrificed the men who would help you run your household.” Zoe hesitated, real
izing that some landowners would have evicted Mrs. Billings. Langford hadn’t.

  “Well, I won’t accept it. Though—” The woman’s small blue eyes twinkled. “I do find piles of logs on me doorstep some mornings. No idea where they come from. And baskets of food.”

  “Wood is needed for the fires for your laundry,” Nigel said gently.

  “Aye, and a little fairy sees fit to leave some for me. And me rent was lowered.”

  Zoe understood. Langford wanted to do something for Mrs. Billings—he’d kept her rent low, provided her firewood and food. She sensed he wanted to do more. But Mrs. Billings had pride and was too stubborn to bend and accept anything more.

  The Duke of Langford might be old-fashioned, autocratic and irritating, but looking at him with Mrs. Billings, Zoe could see that he was a good man.

  6

  THE ENGAGEMENT PARTY

  The next day, Zoe returned with Julia to the village. Julia had visits to make of her own with villagers. They took a track through the estate’s fields, crossing several farms, then walked up a back road into the village. Zoe wore a trim blue suit. The bite of the sea was in the air, something that surprised her because she couldn’t see it, but the sea was only five miles away. Sheep lumbered on the track; lambs gamboled. The sight of them made Zoe smile. Despite the clouds—which she was growing used to—she felt a tug of happiness at her heart.

  Brideswell was a beautiful place.

  Julia visited elderly ladies, new mothers and the reverend’s wife, where they had tea. Everyone stared at Zoe. She couldn’t resist telling the reverend’s wife, Mrs. Wesley, that all women in America were expected to drink gin and dance in fountains. The woman’s look of shock was priceless. “Goodness,” she twittered. “I should not want to go to America.”

  “I don’t know,” Zoe said teasingly. “You might have fun.”

  Julia knew everything about these people. Zoe saw Julia truly did care for them, just as Langford did.

  She’d thought he would be autocratic with his tenants, but with ordinary people he was actually more natural. And now she barely noticed his scars. When she did, they gave him a dangerously...attractive appearance.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Julia said lightly.

  They were walking down the village’s High Street. Zoe blushed. She didn’t want to reveal her thoughts had been on Langford. “I was just thinking that Brideswell is a lovely place, and the village is so quaint and attractive.”

  Julia turned to her. “When you marry Sebastian, will you live here? I should love it if you lived close.”

  Zoe felt terrible. She was going to give Sebastian his money and never return. Julia was imagining a future that was all a lie. “I don’t know. We haven’t thought that far.”

  “Well, if you do look for a house, I would recommend Waverly Park. It is three miles from here, closer to the coast. My favorite house growing up was Wrenford, but that was bought by an industrialist last year. He married Lady Mary Denby—she was once Nigel’s fiancée. But when Nigel returned from the War, Lady Mary couldn’t bear how he had changed. He was so dark and cold and brooding then. So much worse than he is now.”

  “Worse? Were his nightmares worse, too? His shell shock?”

  “Shell shock?” By the stone wall of the village church, Julia stopped and stared at her. A cart and pony rattled by, the driver tipping his hat. “Nigel doesn’t have shell shock,” Julia said. “Those poor men—their minds are gone. Nigel isn’t like that.”

  He is, Zoe thought. She could see all the evidence now she knew to look for it. Obviously he had hidden it from his family. Casually, she asked, “Did Lady Mary or Langford break off the engagement?”

  “She did. I’ll never forgive her for it. She married Sir Harold Denby and they bought Wrenford. It broke my brother’s heart.”

  Zoe had lost Richmond, but she wondered: What was it like to lose someone and know they were having a happy life without you?

  It must hurt deeply.

  Then Julia gave a bright, ecstatic smile. She was gazing at something over Zoe’s shoulder. Zoe turned. A young man was walking through a gate in a low stone wall. A sign hung by the gate. Brideswell Charitable Hospital.

  Julia brought her bubbly smile under control. Now she looked composed and ladylike as she made the introductions. But her voice lifted with soft excitement on his name: Dougal Campbell. “Mr. Campbell has just joined the hospital,” she explained to Zoe. “He studied surgery at the famous Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh. He is working with Dr. Drury at Brideswell’s hospital.”

  Zoe held out her hand. Auburn-haired Campbell shook her hand, his grip firm but not crushing. He had an admirable handshake. A surgeon’s touch, she guessed. She would feel assured if he were her doctor, with his earnest eyes and handsome face.

  Dr. Campbell fell into step with them, walking at Julia’s side. He spoke of cases he was working on while keeping the name of his patients a secret.

  Julia said breathlessly, “Dr. Campbell saved the leg of a ten-year-old boy last winter. He was run over by a car’s wheel. It was believed the leg would have to be removed, that the break was too bad for it to be saved. But Dr. Campbell performed a miracle.”

  The doctor blushed. When he looked at Julia, his brown eyes softened and he caught his breath. “You are too generous, my lady. I cannot work miracles. I do the best that I can. And I’m fortunate to be here. Your family is very generous in your patronage of the hospital.”

  A shadow touched Julia’s face. Then she masked it and said brightly, “We are honored to be able to benefit such a worthwhile cause and such noble men as you and Dr. Drury.”

  Were the Hazelton’s financial troubles the reason for Julia’s look of sadness? Zoe thought of her settlement—she had thought of her money as just keeping the family from having to sell the house. But Langford obviously was the major patron of the hospital. The entire village relied on the great house. It was a large responsibility. It had to say something that Langford didn’t want Sebastian to marry her, even for money.

  After, as she and Julia walked back to Brideswell, Zoe said, “I think you like him.”

  Julia glanced down demurely. “I admire him very much.”

  “I think you might be falling in love.”

  Julia looked up. “I don’t know. Not yet.” But she smiled.

  Julia looked happy. Zoe was so pleased Julia was opening her heart to life and to love. “He seems a noble, wonderful man. Dedicated. Heroic. And very handsome,” Zoe said.

  Julia blushed. “It would be a terrible shock to the family, though, if I wanted to be a doctor’s wife.”

  “Julia, you have to marry for love. I won’t allow you to accept anything less,” Zoe vowed. “No matter what your family thinks.”

  * * *

  On Sunday, Zoe and the Hazeltons walked to church. She watched Langford walk with his mother into the churchyard before the service. His slender mother, who always walked ramrod straight because of her corset, leaned heavily on his arm. He led her to a white stone mausoleum. The duchess carried a bouquet of spring flowers and they disappeared inside. For Langford’s young brother? Zoe wondered. When they came out and walked back toward the church, the duchess was pale. She didn’t cry, but she looked older. And filled with sorrow.

  After the service, Langford walked with his mother on the return to Brideswell. Sebastian was supposed to walk with her, but he’d begged off. She saw him slip into the village pub, furtively looking around before he went in.

  Since the day was beautiful, Zoe strolled around the house. She was just about to go into the drawing room by the terrace doors when her mother’s voice reached her from inside.

  “It should be a mother’s job to help arrange her own daughter’s engagement party,” Mother complained.

  “But we do want an occa
sion befitting Brideswell, not an amusement park,” the dowager snapped. “I have handled several engagement balls and each one has been elegant and a success.”

  “Well, I know what my Zoe would want. And I want to see my daughter happy.”

  Oh, God. An engagement ball. As to her happiness, Mother rarely asked her what she wanted. After Billy’s death, Mother became more determined to guide Zoe’s life than ever.

  She walked away from the drawing room. She had no intention of getting into the middle of that. Bathed in sunlight, the water on the lake sparkled in the distance. New leaves glimmered on the trees. The formal gardens glowed with new color. She walked toward the folly, a stone temple built on a hill.

  She’d have to go through with an engagement ball. But the thought of lying so publicly made her stomach ache. She might be bold, but she was not thoughtless or without a conscience.

  As she walked along the path that wound up the hill, she saw Langford standing by the door of another small stone building with a steep roof, delicate stained-glass windows and a pointed door. A cross hung above the door. It was a little chapel.

  Zoe walked up to it, and Langford saw her from the end of the vestry. He came up to her.

  “Your own chapel? It’s lovely.” She saw inside to an altar, with a red-and-gold cloth laid on it. Jewel-colored light spilled in from the stained-glass windows. Langford’s mother was on her knees before the altar, her head bowed.

  “My father had it built for my mother, so she could come here and pray. Sometimes she has a priest come and give her mass. On Sunday, she comes in and says prayers for us all. Today, she is probably saying prayers for you, too.”

  “She is very devoted to her faith.”

  “She relied on it when my father made her unhappy.” Langford bent toward her and Zoe lost her breath. He was close enough to kiss her. She wanted it, even here in a chapel.

  His lips almost brushed her ear. “I won’t let her be hurt.”

  “I don’t want to hurt her,” Zoe said. And she turned and left. Before she did something sinful and kissed her fiancé’s brother in front of a house of God.