Devoted to the Duke, page 11
And refuse to look back.
Mrs. Talley, their housekeeper, met the carriage. “I have all the servants lined up to receive the new duchess, Your Grace,” she informed him. She looked to Mary. “It is an honor to meet you, Your Grace. Don’t be alarmed when you see the number of those waiting to greet you. It will take time but you’ll learn the names of those you need to.”
“And remember that others, such as Barton, will accompany us in the future,” Jeremy added.
Mary clung to his arm as he led her inside. Servants lined both sides of the foyer, curiosity on their faces to see what their new mistress looked like.
They moved down one side of the line and then the other, Mrs. Talley providing the names and positions of each. He could see how overwhelmed Mary was becoming and squeezed her hand. She gave him a grateful smile.
Jeremy dismissed the lot and said, “Mrs. Talley, we are in need of sustenance after our journey. Would you have a light supper brought to the winter parlor? And would you be so good as to unpack for Her Grace while we dine? We left her lady’s maid in London since we’ll only be here a short while.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Turning to his new wife, he said, “Let me show you to your rooms.”
He led her upstairs, past the rooms that had once been his father’s, ones that now belonged to him, and opened the door for her. Her trunk had already been placed inside the chamber.
“Mrs. Talley will be an immense help to you. She is a kind woman. Feel free to ask her any question regarding the house.”
“Where are your r-rooms?” Mary asked nervously.
Jeremy pointed to the connecting door between their suites. “You may come through there if you have need of me. You’ll pass your dressing room and then mine before you reach my bedchamber.”
A knock sounded and he bid them come. A maid brought hot water.
“Here. Wash the stains of travel from you. Change clothes if you wish. I’ll be back in half an hour to escort you to the winter parlor. It’s small and intimate, a perfect setting for the two of us to eat something.”
He went through the connecting door and closed it behind him, venturing through both dressing rooms. When he stepped inside the massive bedchamber, he couldn’t help but think he was pretending to be the new duke. That his father would breeze through the doorway, his face flushed, laughing at something that had amused him.
Opening the wardrobe, he saw the clothes he’d left at Eversleigh when he’d gone to town had been moved here. He glanced around and saw nothing of his father’s remained behind and idly wondered where it all had gone. Quickly, he washed and changed clothes and then returned for Mary. He escorted her to the parlor and made small talk as they ate.
“Tomorrow, we’ll ride the estate so that you may see your new home. Mrs. Talley can also take you on a tour of the house.”
“It’s so large. I fear I will continue to get lost for the next year.”
“You’ll be surprised how quickly you learn your way around.”
“I hope.” She yawned. “F-forgive me. My maid had me up long before d-dawn in order to prepare my hair for the ceremony.”
He placed his hand over hers. “You looked lovely today, Mary. It’s been a long day for both of us. Let me take you upstairs so you can get a good night’s sleep.”
His bride’s eyes widened. “Y-you . . . don’t wish . . . to . . .” Her voice trailed off as her cheeks pinkened.
Jeremy smiled reassuringly. “I think you will enjoy yourself more when you aren’t so exhausted.”
Relief filled her face. “Thank you. You are a very thoughtful husband.”
He led her to her room and placed his hands on her shoulders. Pressing a kiss to her brow, he said, “Goodnight, Mary. I hope you will be happy at Eversleigh. And with me.”
She smiled shyly. “I’m sure I will, Jeremy.”
He left her and went to his own room.
And wept.
Chapter Thirteen
Five years later . . .
Catherine placed the wet washcloth she’d used to bath her father in the basin of water as Strong dried the earl’s useless limbs. Together, it took some minutes to dress him. She recalled how long the process lasted when she’d first brought him home to Statham Manor after the accident. She and Strong had learned much together as they’d cared for the man they both loved.
Strong combed the earl’s sparse hair, smoothing it down. They’d long ago abandoned the notion of shaving him. It proved too difficult and seemed unnecessary since he never had visitors beyond Doctor Patterson. Edward Crawford had come only once. When he’d seen the state his brother was in, her uncle told her he couldn’t bear to see his flesh and blood that way, so helpless. No longer a man.
His words infuriated Catherine and she’d ordered her uncle out. She’d apologized profusely to her father for his own kin’s harsh words. The earl, who rarely spoke, had wept in silence.
She handed the basin to Strong. “Thank you for your help.”
“It’s my pleasure, Lady Catherine. The earl’s been good to me since I was a boy. I intend to always be good to him.”
The cheerful valet left and Catherine tidied up things as her father dozed. She finally seated herself in the armchair by the window and picked up her pencil. She chewed on the end as she envisioned the next scene, closing her eyes several times to let it play out in her mind. When she had everything worked out, she reached for paper and began writing.
Telling stories had always come as second nature to her. She’d entertained Leah for years with tales she made up on the spot. Some of them Leah begged for over and over and Catherine began writing them down, changing them slightly until both she and Leah were satisfied. Over the years, she’d amassed a large stack of stories. Though she had ample funds in which to run the estate, she found herself growing slightly bored with her quiet life in the country. Though she got out to do some charity work in the nearby village, the bulk of her time had been spent at her father’s side in this bedchamber. He slept for much of the day and so she’d found ways to pass the time.
At first, it had been writing more children’s stories and also reading everything in the downstairs library. She enjoyed going to another time and place since she rarely got out and saw so few others.
Then everything changed with the publication of Sense and Sensibility, written By a Lady. Catherine knew that society considered writing a degrading occupation for women, one that robbed them of their femininity. Any book published by a female was done so anonymously so as not to damage its author’s reputation. No women would openly admit to wanting to become a so-called literary lioness.
When she’d first read Sense and Sensibility, it had been over a year since her mother’s death and her father’s incapacitation. Catherine had drunk up the story of Elinor and Marianne, the older Dashwood sisters, as they struggled with poverty and affairs of the heart. Their younger sister, Margaret, reminded her so much of Leah. Catherine had wept as Willoughby shredded poor Marianne’s heart and how the secret engagement of Lucy Steele to the romantic Edward Ferrars prevented Elinor from ever finding happiness. Her heart ached at how Colonel Brandon loved Marianne from afar and Marianne’s callous treatment of the military man. In the end, the author managed to turn Catherine’s tears of sorrow into ones of great joy, with both Elinor and Marianne finding lasting love.
After reading the grand love story, Catherine began one of her own.
She never admitted that she wrote of love because she would never have it for herself. Once, at that ball so many years ago, she’d fancied a time she might find love with Jeremy St. Clair. Fate had intervened, keeping her from pursuing a friendship—and possible romantic attachment—with him. She learned months later from Charlotte’s letters that Jeremy wed the bashful, timid Lady Mary Mowbray before the end of the Season. While she couldn’t picture the dashing marquess with such a shy creature, she knew it had been his choice to make. Charlotte also wrote to Catherine that Jeremy’s father had passed and that he’d become the next Duke of Everton.
She doubted she would ever see him again—and so to try and heal her heavy heart, she wrote of Jeremy St. Clair. Even though the author of Sense and Sensibility went on to write new romances, Catherine stopped when she’d finished her single effort. Too many of her private thoughts were spilled onto the page, even if she did disguise the names. She allowed many bad things to occur to the couple in her book in order to make their story more interesting. If she let her couple meet and easily fall in love, where was the story? Instead, she brutally attacked her characters, putting them through misery before she allowed them to find their happily ever after with one another.
If only she had the same in her future.
She stopped after that one effort at romantic fiction and put it away in a box under her bed. Gathering her courage once again, she went back to her children’s tales and decided she would try to become published under the pen name C. E. Lawford. She’d been christened Catherine Elizabeth, hence the C. E. She thought Lawford was close enough to Crawford without giving any clue to her real identity. Since married women in Britain couldn’t legally sign a contract, that was her saving grace. Once she’d turned twenty-one, she was of age and signed with her publisher.
She was more fortunate than most would-be authors. She didn’t have the option to sell via subscription, where a set group agreed to buy her book in advance. That only applied to well-known authors or those with a patron who recommended the book to friends. Instead, she had enough capital to publish on commission and agreed to take on the financial risk. Her publisher paid the costs of publication and then repaid himself as her books were sold, charging a ten-percent commission for each book which left the shelves.
After production costs were paid back, the rest of the profits fell to her. Thank goodness her books had sold well enough to recover the costs—and then some. Catherine kept the funds she earned in a separate account, knowing the day would come when her father passed and she and Leah would be at the mercy of her greedy uncle. Surprisingly, life hadn’t worked out as she expected. Her father still lived, while Edward Crawford had actually been the first to die. She’d received word from her cousin last month of Uncle Edward’s death. Since women didn’t attend funerals, Catherine wrote a short note of condolence. Martin hadn’t bothered to call at Statham Manor in five years. She didn’t want any word from her to change the situation.
Taking up her pencil, she returned to her latest story about a brother and sister who discovered a magic broomstick.
Two hours later, she set aside her writing and stood, stretching her arms high above her head. She went to the bed and heard the usual wheezing from her father. His breathing had never been right since the carriage accident.
Seeing he was awake, she said, “Hello, Papa. I hope you feel nice and clean in your new nightshirt and fresh sheets.”
“Cath . . . rine,” he said, a faint smile on his lips.
“Yes, Papa. I’m here. Strong helped me bathe you. Do you need turning again?”
They’d learned from experience to move him to different positions for brief amounts of time to keep the bedsores away. Even then, some still formed. She was grateful he really couldn’t feel them.
“I love . . . you.”
She tenderly cupped his cheek. “I love you, too, Papa.”
He coughed and then his breathing grew more labored. His eyes grew larger and then his breath came in rapid spurts.
“Should I have Strong fetch Doctor Patterson?” she asked anxiously.
“No,” he rasped. “It’s . . . time.”
Catherine grasped his hand, knowing he couldn’t feel her touch. Tears welled in her eyes. She’d known this day would come. Doctor Patterson thought it would occur shortly after she’d brought her father home but he’d continued to surprise them all by continuing to live.
“Nothing . . . you . . . can do.” He smiled. “Your mother . . . waiting . . .”
She held her breath, even as the last one left his body. For several minutes, she sat, not moving, accepting that he was gone. Rising, she kissed his forehead.
After five years devoted to his care, her life—and Leah’s—would now change radically. Martin Crawford would be thirty next year. The spoiled boy had become a spoiled, selfish man and would make for a terrible Earl of Statham. Still, everything would be his by law, from the title to this house to all of the land and investments. She gave thanks that she had the money from her books for she doubted Martin would provide much in the way for her and Leah. She could see him sticking them in a tumbling down cottage, the same way the half-brother in Sense and Sensibility had done to the Dashwood women.
Catherine realized she was on the shelf at twenty-three, even though she had a dowry guaranteed by her father. Her youth had passed her by and no man would want to become her husband. At least Leah would have a chance to find wedded bliss. Her dowry was also protected from Martin. Thank goodness Papa had made sure of that. At sixteen, her sister would need to wait a year—better two—before she made her come-out. Once Leah married, Catherine could be a devoted aunt to her sister’s children. That would almost be as good as having ones of her own.
She released her father’s hand and penned a brief letter to Martin Crawford in London, knowing he would come immediately to claim all that was his. Finishing it, she rang the bell and Strong appeared.
“Papa is gone,” she told the faithful retainer. “I wanted to tell you how grateful I am to have had your help with him these last years. You are a good, kind man, Strong.”
The valet mopped tears from his eyes. “I thought the world of the earl.” He paused. “I wonder if the new earl will even have need of me.”
“That, I cannot say. Cousin Martin may bring his own valet. It’s up to him. If he discharges you, I will write a letter of reference.”
He gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you, my lady. You have been a saint to care for the earl as you have.”
She bowed her head a moment, overcome with emotion. Raising it, she said, “I’ve written to my cousin, informing him of Papa’s death.” She handed him the sealed letter.
“I will see to its delivery myself,” Strong promised. “I’ll leave for London once we’ve laid the earl out downstairs. He is already fresh from his earlier bath. Let me dress him a final time.”
“Thank you.” Catherine left to find Leah. Jervis informed her that Leah and her governess were out riding but should return within the hour. She told the retainer her father had passed and sent him upstairs to help Strong. She had their housekeeper gather the servants. Catherine addressed them regarding her father’s death and said, while she could make no promises as to their future employment, she would put in a good word for each of them with the new Earl of Statham. Anyone not retained could expect a letter of reference from her.
Sadly, the servants dispersed. She knew the next time she saw them, each would wear the black armband signifying their grief at the earl’s passing. She watched as Strong and Jervis carried her father downstairs and into the small parlor. Strong told her he would stop in the village to inform the vicar and Doctor Patterson of the earl’s death before he made his way to London.
Needing some fresh air, Catherine left the house and walked slowly to the stables. When she drew near, she saw two riders approaching in the distance and steadied herself. As they rode into the yard, her eyes met Leah’s. Her sister leaped from her horse and ran to Catherine, throwing her arms about her. No words were necessary as the sisters clung to one another, Leah’s sobs the only sound. The governess dismounted and claimed the reins of Leah’s horse, leading both mounts into the stable.
Leah pulled away. “That hateful cousin of ours will show up gloating by nightfall,” she said.
“You remember Martin?”
Her sister’s chin rose a notch. “I do. He is as vile as Uncle Edward was. I hate both of them.”
Catherine stroked Leah’s hair. “It doesn’t matter what he is because he’s the new Earl of Statham and will do whatever he wishes.”
Fear showed in Leah’s eyes. “What will happen to us, Catherine? Statham Manor is now his. Will Cousin Martin allow us to remain in our home? Or perhaps send us to London?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Obviously, he doesn’t value family much since we haven’t seen him in a good while.” She placed both hands on Leah’s shoulders. “You will be fine. Before long, you will make your come-out. Papa reserved money for your gowns. You have a generous dowry. You will be able to choose a man to wed and never see Cousin Martin after that if you wish.”
Leah looked relieved and then she bit her lip. “What of you, Catherine? Will you wed? Can I go with you when you do so or will Cousin Martin be my guardian?”
“We can talk about that later. Right now, let’s go say our goodbyes to Papa.”
Catherine led her sister back toward Statham Manor, wondering how long the place would remain their home.
Chapter Fourteen
As Leah predicted, Martin Crawford showed up just before nightfall. When Jervis came in to announce his arrival, Leah threw her hands in the air and stormed over to the French doors.
“I won’t see him,” she declared to Catherine. “Not tonight.” With that, Leah opened the doors and hurried through them, closing them behind her.
She’d been gone only seconds when the new Earl of Statham entered the room. Catherine rose to greet him and he took her hands in his.
“My dear cousin. I’m sorry at Uncle’s passing.” Despite his kind words, his posture revealed he was full of himself, drunk on the idea of being the new earl.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “Would you care to sit?”
She seated herself again on the settee and he took the chair nearby.
“May I offer you some refreshment?” she asked politely, masking her true feelings for him.
“No, nothing for me.” He studied her a moment and cleared his throat. “Cousin, there are important matters that must be discussed.”
