One look from the stern, beautiful woman makes Lydia jump back into bed. “You two are keeping her up. That’s not good.”
“Princess,” I say, “we had to check on her before we turned in.”
“And sleep? After my son gave such a performance! Katherine, take your husband.” She waves her hand dismissively at us. “Take him out of here and treat him like the hero he is. Consider giving me another grandbaby. If I am to stay in miserable London, I want more beautiful children to watch over.”
“Mamen’ka, you’re getting a little ahead—”
“Jasha, you can’t change your mind again. You’ve given her back her title again. It’s public. She’s your wife.”
“You two are married again?” Lydia’s eyes become large like coins. “My parents are married again. And I missed it.”
“Lidochka, she was always my wife. She sort of forgot.” Jahleel kisses my hand. “Now the gossips will tell the world she is the Duchess of Torrance.”
Lydia gets up and dances. “So my papen’ka and my mamen’ka are married. We’re going to be a normal family?”
“Never normal, dorogaya,” he says. “We’re too extraordinary for normal.” He turns to me. “Tuck in my best girl, Katherine.”
As I do, Jahleel leaves. I hear him and his cane walking down the corridor alone.
Chapter 48
KATHERINE—DANCING IN THELIGHT
After spending a little more time with Lydia, making sure she knew none of those horrible words said about her or implied were true, I go to my chambers. I hear no noise in Jahleel’s room. He’s just resting. That’s what I tell myself.
Taking the mums out of my hair, I sit them on the vanity along with the necklace and Papa’s watch—two legacies entwined.
And Jahleel. He’d already decided a title, though he’d generously given us both a way out. Turns out legally we’re still married. The document Jahleel dated was for 1917, a hundred years from now. Never in our lifetimes did he intend to let me go.
That makes me smile.
My maid hurries and helps me unpin and step out of my gown. She has the closet open, exposing many colorful dresses that the modiste made. Now I understand the intricacies. Jahleel created a wardrobe for his wife, his duchess, all along. Yet the one gown near the rear, a jet-colored muslin with puffed sleeves and a pleated train, I wish he’d not had designed. I wish it could be put in the fireplace and burned with Wilcox coal, but it’s practical. Death is a part of life. It’s a part of our lives.
“Take these mums away, please.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” My maid nods and scoops them up. I wishnever to wear a mourning gown and mums. Ever. But in my mirror, I see the truth. I’m not scared of the future, because I know there’s a lot of living and loving to be had now.
“Duchess, would you need anything more?” The maid straightens the sheer nightgown with silver ribbons that hang to my bare ankles. The frills of the sleeves swallow my wrists.
“No. Thank you for your assistance.” The young woman smiles. She stops at the door. “I’m glad you won, ma’am.”
Was she one of the servants who laughed at my dilemma? Perhaps. Everyone needs a second or third chance. But I’m happy that I’ve won, too. “Good night, but make sure breakfast for two is brought to the duke’s chambers a little after dawn.”
She bows and leaves. I stroke my father’s watch. It’s well past two. Perhaps I should’ve said noon. Nonetheless, I turn to open the connecting door and march inside.
Pushing into his chambers, I expect to see Jahleel sitting by his fireplace ready to admire me and my slippers.
No!
My heart thuds. Then stops.
My husband, my heart, lies on his bed, eyes shut, arms crossed, and fully dressed. He only sleeps fully clothed when he doesn’t think he’ll awaken.
Nooo! Trying to save me, he’s killed himself. “No. No. You pushed too hard for me.”
My strangled voice sounds like a whisper, barely more than the crackle of logs in his fireplace.
He can’t … He can’t die, not when he put all our pieces back together.
