Devoted to the Duke, page 2
Catherine fell into his arms again, relief pouring through her. She could wait and let love find her, after all, and not be hurried in her decision. Whether he knew or not, her papa had given her a greater gift than the beautiful sapphire necklace.
He’d given her the gift of time.
Chapter Two
Jeremy St. Clair watched the streets of London pass by from the carriage, happy to be in familiar surroundings once more after a year abroad. The sound of English being spoken was sweet music to his ears. He turned to his companion, Matthew Proctor.
“Are you happy to be on English soil again?”
“Safely on English soil,” the bespectacled tutor noted. “I hope the English—and Russians—can dispatch Bonaparte soon. If they do, we must go out again and see the cities you should have been exposed to. Especially Paris.”
“The Little Corsican has dragged the fight out for years,” he said. “I was a boy when he was named First Consul. He’s amassed and consolidated his power and gobbled up land during all that time. At least we got to see some of Europe. The few parts not affected by the war.”
Matthew shuddered. “Dodging a few shady situations along the way, Jeremy.” He paused. “Forgive me. We are in London. I should address you as Lord Sather once more.”
Irritation prickled through him. “You will do no such thing, Matthew. After all our adventures together, we are as brothers.” Though once the words were out of his mouth, a dark shadow crossed Jeremy’s mind. Once, he’d had a brother. Timothy. He was the true Marquess of Sather. It should be Timothy who became the next Duke of Everton. Not Jeremy.
“It probably doesn’t matter, Lord Sather,” his friend continued. “We do not run in the same social circles. I doubt we will meet again after today.” The tutor smiled. “Unless one day you wish me to tutor your son, the future Marquess of Sather. I would be happy to do so, knowing he would be as inquisitive and agreeable as his father.”
“To have a son would mean I must marry.” The thought of having any child startled him.
“And you will. Your father will expect it of you. His Grace will want the St. Clair line to carry on.”
“Father has done his best to see that occur,” he said lightly, thinking of the three marriages and the three dead wives. “Luke could always take my place,” he added, referring to his half-brother, who was eight years his junior.
“The mighty Duke of Everton wants his heir apparent to become the next duke. That’s you, my lord. You’ve a steady head on your shoulders. You will do a fine job when the time comes.”
In a way, Jeremy wished Luke could leapfrog over him and take on the responsibility of becoming the next in line. At only fifteen, his half-brother was brash and bold and would carry none of the doubts the more serious-minded Jeremy did. Ever since Timothy had drowned, making the second St. Clair son next in line for the title, Jeremy had questioned why he had survived and why he had to take his brother’s place. Once, he had been happy and carefree, without worries—until that day when he’d dragged into Eversleigh, soaked to the skin and half out of his mind.
The day Timothy died.
The carriage pulled up in front the London townhome of the St. Clairs. Turning to Matthew, he offered his hand.
“I suppose this is goodbye.” As they shook, Jeremy added, “We’ve never talked about it before. What will you do now, Matthew?”
“Return to Cambridge. See if they have any positions open for a well-traveled tutor.” He laughed. “There are always young men in need of someone to guide and instruct them during their university studies. Even one who can get them out of the occasional scrape.”
Jeremy thought a moment. “You will need a reference. I will write a glowing one, of course.”
“That would be much appreciated, my lord,” Matthew said solemnly.
It pained him to hear his companion of the past year withdraw and speak so formally, as if Matthew and his brilliant mind could ever be subservient to anyone. True, they had known one another for several years, throughout Jeremy’s time at Cambridge, but they had spent over a year in one another’s company and become the closest of friends. He understood, though, the class system that ruled England. Jeremy had been born into a family of wealth and position. Matthew was the son of a clergyman.
“It’s too late in the afternoon to catch a post coach to Cambridge. Would you come in and stay the night? That way, I could write your letter of recommendation and send it with you tomorrow.”
Doubt filled Matthew’s eyes. “It’s a most generous offer, Lord Sather, but I would be more comfortable staying at a nearby inn. I will drop by tomorrow morning, however, to collect the reference. If that’s convenient for you, of course.”
He knew he wouldn’t be able to convince his friend to stay and decided to let the matter go.
“Very well. I’ll tell the driver to take you to a local establishment. Would you at least come for breakfast, Matthew?”
“I think not, my lord. Why don’t you leave the letter with your butler? I’ll collect it from him.”
Jeremy touched Matthew’s shoulder. “I will see you in the morning,” he said emphatically and climbed from the carriage.
He instructed the driver as to which trunk was his and the man retrieved it. A footman had already stepped outside and hoisted it to his shoulder as he greeted Jeremy. Paying off the driver, Jeremy instructed him to an inn less than a mile away, where the man could drop his remaining passenger.
The carriage drove off. He waved at Matthew, who nodded at him. Jeremy realized a door closed on this chapter in his life. He faced the house, three stories in height and located in one of the most suitable squares in London. Steeling himself, he followed the footman inside.
Barton, the butler who had been with the St. Clair family for many years, greeted him.
“Good afternoon, Lord Sather. It is very good to have you home.”
“I am happy to be back in England. You’re looking well, Barton. Any news?”
“His Grace is in residence, naturally, with Parliament in session. Her Grace arrived from Eversleigh two days ago, in anticipation of your arrival. Lord Luke is finishing his term at Eton and will be home within the next week. And Lady Rachel is—”
“Here!” cried out a joyous voice from the top of the staircase.
Jeremy watched his half-sister race down the stairs. When she still had half a dozen steps to go, she flung herself at him. He caught her and held on as she hugged him tightly, smothering his face in kisses.
“Did you miss me?” she asked, her face flushed with color, her St. Clair eyes gleaming at him.
He pretended to ponder her question and then said, “Only a smidgeon. More importantly, did you miss me?”
A dramatic sigh came from her as he set her on her feet. “You know I did, Jeremy. Did you get my letters?”
“I did, poppet. I answered them, every one. Thank you for keeping me abreast of the happenings in the family. You always have a colorful way with words,” he praised.
“It was so boring without you at home,” she declared. Then mischief lit her eyes. “Did you bring anything for me?”
He laughed. “Wasn’t it enough that I sent you something from every city I stayed in?”
“Oh, I appreciated every gift, Jeremy. You’re ever so thoughtful.”
She grew quiet and he knew she was thinking of their father. The children of the Duke of Everton received scant attention from their father, no matter their gender or age. He couldn’t think of a single gift his father had ever given him and doubted Luke or Rachel had received anything.
Taking her hand, he said, “I’m sure somewhere in my trunk I can rummage through and find something meant for you. It may take hours to unpack, however. I crammed as much into it as possible as I made for home. I don’t suppose Manfry is still available?”
Rachel sniffed haughtily. “Manfry hated that you left him behind. He complained that, especially going abroad, you needed a valet. His nose has been out of joint ever since.” She smiled. “Don’t worry. Cor kept him busy.”
Jeremy contained the laughter that threatened to erupt. The true power in the St. Clair family was his formidable grandmamma, the dowager duchess. If Manfry was under Cor’s supervision, the valet had been worked to the bone during his master’s absence.
From the corner of his eyes, he saw a figure descending the stairs, a woman who looked vaguely familiar. She reached the foot of the stairs and curtseyed to him.
“Lady Rachel, it’s time for our reading hour.”
“Oh, Miss Bates, Jeremy has only arrived at home. Surely, we can forego reading this one time.”
“On the contrary, it’s important to keep to a schedule,” the governess said. “Besides, Lord Sather will want to wash away the travel stains of the road. Come along, my lady.”
Rachel flung him a look of desperation, which he decided to ignore.
“It’s important to do as your governess says.”
Her bottom lip stuck out in a pretty pout. At eleven, Rachel already had the St. Clair height, as well as the jet black hair and emerald eyes. She would be quite the beauty someday and likely break several hearts before she chose a husband.
“Will you at least take me riding in the morning?” she asked petulantly.
“I’d be delighted to as long as there’s a mount available for me. Shall we meet before breakfast?”
Her smile said she’d forgiven him. “I’ll meet you in the stables. Don’t be late, Jeremy. I don’t tolerate tardiness. It’s something Miss Bates has ground into me.” Under her breath, she added, “Along with countless other things.”
With that, Rachel turned and trotted up the stairs, her governess following after her. Jeremy decided that the poor woman must earn every penny of her salary, caring for the headstrong young tomboy.
Barton cleared his throat. “My lord, His Grace has been informed of your arrival and wishes to speak with you in the library.”
“Very good, Barton. I suppose Manfry came to town with Cor?”
“He did, my lord. You’ll find your chamber prepared. Even now, Manfry will be unpacking your trunk and helping you to settle in.”
“Then I will go see Father. Thank you, Barton.”
The butler nodded deferentially and Jeremy went straight to the library. He would have preferred washing up first but when the Duke of Everton requested your presence, everything else faded into the woodwork.
Reaching the library, he knocked on the door and heard a voice bidding him to enter. He opened the door and closed it behind him.
His father sat in a chair next to the window, an ever-present glass of brandy in his hand. As Jeremy approached, he saw the past year hadn’t been kind to the elder St. Clair. The good looks of his youth had dissipated, thanks to an overindulgence in drink and food, coupled with years of late nights and little exercise. His ruddy complexion seemed more flush than usual and his hair had thinned to the point of baldness. He looked to weigh a good two stones heavier than when Jeremy had last seen him a year ago.
Crossing the room, he bowed. “Hello, Father. How have you been?”
No hand was offered. No gesture of warmth given. Not even a smile escaped the duke’s lips.
“Sit,” he commanded. “Drink?”
“No, thank you, sir.”
Jeremy took a seat across from his father and waited for him to lead the conversation. It was how they’d always communicated. His father barked at him. He answered in as few words as possible.
“Tell me you enjoyed your sojourns.”
“Indeed, I did.”
“Give me details, Boy.”
Jeremy launched into recounting some of the places he’d visited, including the business establishments he’d called upon, as well as estates and farms he’d visited.
“Stop,” his father commanded after several minutes, scrutinizing him. After a moment, he said, “What about the fun you had? The parties you attended. The women you met. The drinking and the hunting. What of that?”
“There was some of that,” he began. “I thought it important, though, since I am to be the next duke, that I learn about great estates, as well as businesses and which types I should invest in.”
“Balderdash! I sent you abroad to open your horizons, Jeremy, not for you to study dull topics as you did at Cambridge for four years. I’m sorely disappointed that you didn’t follow my instructions and relish your trip.”
“I did have a marvelous time, Father. I attended balls and plays and concerts. Went to museums and viewed the architecture of famous churches. I mingled with society and met fascinating people, including artists and playwrights. It would have been a wasted opportunity, though, not to have taken advantage to extend my knowledge in other areas. Which leads me to say that now I’ve returned home, I’m eager to become familiar with how our various estates are run.”
His father’s perplexed look silenced him. Jeremy hesitated a moment and decided to plunge ahead. “I realize you have no interest in the many operations that run on St. Clair lands, but I have a great interest in farming and husbandry. From what I’ve learned and what I saw in Europe, I believe—”
“No changes,” the duke proclaimed firmly. “I have competent managers to deal with those things. What I need is for you to quit being so bloody serious and enjoy being a young man of wealth and position. You’re a marquess, my boy. A St. Clair. We’re known for our enjoyment of life. It’s time you quit being so solemn and appreciate all you have and take advantage of it. Drink! Dance! Find a mistress!”
Jeremy held his tongue. All his life, he’d seen his father engage in irresponsible behavior. He acted as a wastrel, overeating and drinking to excess. Gambling. Fighting. Having countless affairs. The Duke of Everton was an embarrassment to his family. Jeremy had heard the many whispers that disparaged his father behind his back, though never to his face since he was, in fact, the Duke of Everton.
Jeremy planned to be a much different kind of duke. One who would be responsible to his people and careful with his purse. One whose behavior and manners were so impeccable, society would never question them. One who never embarrassed his family. He’d been in plenty of schoolboy fights, defending the St. Clair name and his father’s despicable behavior. Once he claimed the title, he would restore honor to his family and act the way a duke should.
In a dismissive voice, his father said, “You can start amusing yourself tonight by attending the Wethersby ball. The Season is in full swing.”
“Do you expect me to begin a search for a wife?” Jeremy asked pointedly.
His father guffawed. “That’s the last thing I’d expect from you. Sow your wild oats. Find a pretty widow. One of around thirty. Old enough to teach you a few things and young enough to still have her looks and figure. Reconnect with your old friends. Go riding and to your club.
“But whatever you do, you are to stay out of my business affairs,” the duke warned.
“I understand, sir.”
Jeremy rose and excused himself. His gut told him his father was hiding something. Something that might affect the entire wellbeing of the St. Clair family.
He would find Cor. She would know if anything was amiss.
Chapter Three
Jeremy found his grandmother in her sitting room, sipping a cup of tea as she composed a letter at her desk. He observed her for a moment before making his presence known. Her abundant silver hair was swept off her face, showing the delicate bone structure. Dark blue eyes, ever inquisitive, dominated her face. Though she would be seventy next year, only a few wrinkles appeared about her eyes and mouth, the rest of her face unlined. If she didn’t laugh so much, she wouldn’t possess any wrinkles at all.
His grandmother had been a mother to him since his own passed away in childbirth. The second and third wives his father took tried to mother him briefly but Jeremy hadn’t taken to either woman. Luke’s mother saw Timothy and Jeremy as a threat to any future sons she would bear the duke and kept her distance after those first few weeks. Rachel’s mother was flighty and quite dense—though beautiful to look at—but not much for children. Since both women had also died in childbirth, Jeremy had an odd fear of women giving birth, which made him reluctant to wed. The point of marriage in the upper classes was to procreate so that he would have sons to pass his title and lands to, yet the thought of his wife giving birth made him ill. No law said he had to marry. Once his father was gone and Jeremy inherited the title, he could do as he pleased. If that meant no wife, so be it. Luke—or his son—could become the heir.
He cleared his throat so that Cor would look up. When she didn’t, he entered the room and leaned over her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
She turned slowly and gave him The Look, one servants and society alike knew.
“Did you think I didn’t know you’ve been staring at me for the last five minutes, Jeremy?” she accused, though he knew she wasn’t angry.
He wrapped his arms about her. “You are still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Cor. No one holds a candle to you.”
Her graying brows rose. “Not any woman you met in your travels?”
“You are still first and foremost in my esteem,” he replied smoothly. “Come and sit with me and let me tell you some of what I did during my travels.”
“Let me ring for another cup of tea first.” She appraised him. “And something to eat. You look famished.”
He helped her rise and she rang the bell before he escorted her to a settee and joined her. A servant appeared and received instructions, soon bearing a new tea tray with a delightful assortment of treats. He stacked his plate high as Cor poured tea for them both.
“Your letters were wonderful, you know,” she confided. “They were always the highlight of any day in which I received them. You have quite a way with words. Your descriptions were so vivid. Of the people. Streets and shops. The music and food. It reminded me of my wedding trip when your grandpapa took me to Paris.”
