Chapter Twenty-Four
What had theduke wished to tell her? Was it compassion she saw in his eyes, or something deeper? Jenny only knew that he’d left her with a dreadful yearning for something that could never be. She loved the children and wanted to be a part of their lives, but accepted that it wasn’t enough for her. This foolish passion she felt for His Grace made her realize how much she needed a man’s love. Coming so close to death, brought it home to her, that a governess’ life would never be fulfilling. But how powerless she was to change her future! And to settle for a half-life very hard indeed.
She left the bed and slowly began to dress in the gown she’d worn when the German abducted her. Jenny shrank as cloth touched her skin, the collar and the bodice torn away, where her brooch had been. She drew in a ragged breath. In the bedchamber assigned her, she would shut herself away and try to deal with these painful emotions. It wouldn’t do for the children to see her like this, not until she had gained some control of herself.
When she entered the servant’s hall, a footman and several maids rose from the table. They crowded around her asking how she was, calling her a heroine, because she had saved William from a madman on the roof of the tower. The story had grown into a fantastical tale as it now seemed that she’d actually struggled with Von Bremen on the roof. How this version of events came about, was a mystery, but their concern brought tears to her eyes. And Mrs. Pollitt actually smiled at her.
Jenny was directed to a large airy room on the attic floor which occupied an entire corner with two windows. It was once the old butler’s quarters. Forrester had been given a comfortable suite of rooms in the male servant’s wing where the footmen were housed.
All her clothes had been neatly put away. She sank onto the bed. Mrs. Pollitt had sent her feverfew and vinegar for her temples, but her head still ached, and she discovered a bruised hip. This was undoubtedly why her emotions were so raw.
The evening was her own. She was not to see the children again until tomorrow morning. After an excellent repast she undressed and curled up in bed closing her eyes. Still exhausted, she fell asleep, and into a nightmare. Von Bremen’s mad eyes stared at her, the barrel of his gun pointed at her heart. She screamed.
Loud knocking on the door brought her awake. It was morning.
“Come in.” She woozily pushed herself off the bed and reached for her dressing gown.
The red-haired footman entered. “Are you all right, Miss Harrismith?” he asked. “I thought I heard you cry out.”
“I am fine, thank you, Jeremy. I… knocked my leg on the iron bedpost.”
He brought in her breakfast tray with a letter. “This arrived in the post yesterday, but we were unable to give it to you.”
A letter from home. Just what she needed to cheer her up. “Thank you, Jeremy.”
Once the door closed, she sat at the table and drank her tea, nibbling on a bit of toast. She tore the letter open and began to read Bella’s neat script.
“No!” As the contents of the letter were revealed to her, she couldn’t believe what she read. Bella was to marry Judd. It came home to her with a shock how wrong she’d been to leave home. She should have stayed to fight. And now, because of her, Bella would suffer.
Jenny sprang up. For a moment, she didn’t know what to do. Then, having decided on the only option available to her, she pulled her bag from the top of the cupboard. She took out two dresses and laid the green wool on the bed along with her straw poke bonnet with the matching ribbons, and her cream linen spencer. She bundled up the torn gown discovering a spot of blood on the front, and left it in the bottom of the wardrobe, then after washing she dressed in her warmest dress, before pulling on the spencer. She had twenty shillings in her purse for the trip to York on the stage-coach, and just enough left over to hire a chaise to take her the rest of the journey. But as she was not on the way-bill, there might not be a seat available, even atop the coach which was something she dreaded. Several coaches stopped at the Black Lion Inn, on their way north, one as late as midnight. She tucked her purse into her reticule, then sat to remove her house slippers and pull on her half-boots. Dressed in her bonnet and pelisse, she sat at the table to pen a letter to the housekeeper, requesting her trunk be sent to Wetherby Park, and apologized for having been urgently called home. Then she wrote another, far more difficult note to the duke, unable to explain her reason for this precipitous flight. He would not understand, of course, and was unlikely to forgive her. And the children! Oh how she would miss them. Would they be all right? Her final letter to say goodbye to them was the most painful of all.
Jenny picked up her portmanteau and left by the servant’s stairs. Only a housemaid saw her leave, but she merely nodded and scurried away. Jenny slipped from the house into the misty air and hurried to the stables to ask Jem for a lift in the gig. There wasn’t time to walk the six miles to the Black Lion inn. The mist grew denser, curling through the trees, threatening to hold up the coach and delay her journey.
Jem scratched his head but asked no questions. While he harnessed a horse to the gig, Jenny tried not to think of what awaited her at home. Could she change her father’s mind? The stage would travel all day and into the night. She would not reach York until nine o’clock at the earliest. Then she must pay for a jarvie to drive her the few miles out of town to Wetherby Park.
Finally, after some hours waiting for the weather to clear, the coach traveled away from the Black Lion, with Jenny jammed in between a stout woman and a pastor who dug a boney elbow into her side. Thinking of the duke and the children cast her into despair, especially the duke, his searching blue gaze and studied awareness of her, as he stood at her bedside. She had sensed a strong connection between them as if he might step forward and… The knock on her head must have scrambled her brains! At least now with some distance between her and Castlebridge, she could regain some perspective. He was a duke, and her employer, and she a poor baron’s daughter, who was far from the gently reared young lady, a duke would seek to marry. It had been their shared concern for his children that bound them together. William and Barbara! She had promised them a story. Her throat closed, and she hurriedly swallowed. Children were resilient, and they had their loving father. In a little while, with a new governess, or a new mama… the prospect brought her low, and she fought not to cry, aware of the clergyman beside her, casting her the occasional curious glance.
She looked ahead to arriving home. How best to deal with her father? He had not listened to her before, would he now? He simply must.
*
As they traveledto London, Greta glared dry-eyed at Andrew from the coach seat opposite. “I don’t believe you, Harrow. You are attempting to excuse your violent behavior.”
There’d been no tears for Ivo. Perhaps they weren’t so close after all. “We tried to reason with Ivo, Greta. Would you have approved of him killing Miss Harrismith?”
Her face crumpled. “Miss Harrismith again! I declare you’re too fond of her.” She narrowed her eyes. “Have you bedded her?”
He refused to dignify that with a response. “Ivo tried to kill William. He shot Raymond. Doesn’t any of that concern you?”
“You say he tried to kill William. But that was Miss Harrismith’s story. Raymond should not have tried to seduce me. Ivo was only acting on my behalf.”
Andrew sighed. Impossible to get through to her. She only saw what she wanted to. “Take the money I offer you, Greta. You may need it. What if you arrive back in Germany and discover your brother has lost your fortune?”
“I shall remarry. I have many eligible suitors. I don’t know why I chose you.” She sighed. “But it was so very different in Vienna.”
“Yes, it was.” She was so beautiful, many gentlemen would pursue her, and he wished her well.
Greta pouted. “I don’t like England. The English are suspicious of foreigners even though your royal family hail from my country.”
