An American Duchess (15 page)

“You see all my flaws. Each time you look at me.”

“God, no. I am the one who is flawed, Zoe.” He raked his hand through his hair. “You know the truth about me. I am a bl— I am a mess.”

“Your scars?”

“The scars. The shell shock. The shaking. The lack of control. Zoe, I’m not good enough for any woman as I am. Least of all you. But I do love you. You are the most exciting woman I have ever met. When I am with you, I feel like I am alive. You have a joie de vivre that I adore.”

“I thought that drove you crazy.”

“It makes you impossible to resist, Zoe. You make me laugh. You make my heart soar. When I held you in my arms, I had never experienced a more magical moment. Damn it, I just told you I love you.”

She stared at him, and he swallowed hard and went on. “I want to spend my life with you. I know that may not be what you want. But it is what I dream of.”

He cleared his throat. His speech felt awkward, and he felt stiff and embarrassed. He had not explained everything to her—he hadn’t told her the complete truth about himself. “Any terms you give, I will agree to,” he said. “Do I have your acceptance of my proposal?”

Her lips twitched. “Is my word going to be enough, or would you prefer it handwritten and submitted to your secretary?”

“Of course your word will be enough.”

“Then I will marry you, Langford.”

“Good. I will apply for a special license forthwith. We will be married as soon as possible.”

His nephews ran back to him them. Already their trouser legs were soaked. “Hurry up, Uncle Nigel. We need help to make boats.”

* * *

Boats made of tree bark, twigs and leaves bobbed on the lake. Sebastian strolled down, carrying a bottle of champagne and flutes. Standing on the dock that jutted into the water with him and Julia, Zoe drank champagne.

“Uncle Nigel, we are going to sink your armada,” warned Robert.

All the boys threw rocks and shouted, “Boom! Bang!” The oldest had deadly aim and destroyed most of Nigel’s boats in seconds.

Zoe couldn’t take her eyes off Nigel. The man who had used the word
forthwith
in a marriage proposal was crouched in the reeds by the edge of the lake, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, launching boats to amuse five young boys—their father, the earl, had stayed up on the ridge, enjoying a cigar. She had never dreamed Nigel would enjoy playing like this. Mud stained his trousers and he didn’t seem to care.

Julia moved close. “Is it really true? Nigel just told me you accepted his proposal.”

Zoe nodded.

Julia touched her arm, faced her with serious eyes. “You are following your heart?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Even though I saw it with my own eyes, I never dreamed the two of you would fall in love. But I saw him after you took him driving and flying, and he looked like a different man. So much happier, so much more alive. I had begun to think he was very predictable and then he surprised me completely by falling for you. It restored my hope for his happiness.”

Zoe blushed. She wanted to think they would be happy, but he had not sounded entirely happy when he proposed to her. She understood—for weeks she had thought falling in love with him was madness. But she couldn’t stop herself. “I don’t know if I make him happy.”

“Of course you do!”

“He can be as starchy as an old shirt with me. He tries to hide everything he feels behind a mask of ice.” He could be wild and wicked, too, when he made love, but she couldn’t say that to his sister. “One moment I think I’ve genuinely made him smile, but then, the next moment, he is arguing with me. It makes me wonder if we aren’t both crazy.”

He said he behaved so awkwardly with her because he believed
he
had flaws. She liked him best when he was out of control. But he hated to be that way. Yet that was when his heart opened and she saw the man she desired.

“Crazy?” Julia frowned. “Are you sure you are in love with him?”

“This is the most complicated thing I’ve ever felt,” Zoe admitted. “But I think it’s love.”

“Well, I am so happy you are going to be my sister,” Julia said.

“I am happy, too. I’ve always wanted a sister.”

What was she going to do? Stay married to him just long enough to get her money? Or make it last?

It was strange—she didn’t know the answer. She wanted him with pure, raw hunger. But could a marriage between them work? She didn’t want to reveal her uncertainty to Julia. Not when she’d encouraged Julia to follow her heart.

“Uncle Nigel, were you hit by a shell?” The question came from the middle boy of the five, but all the other lads perked up their ears, too.

“It must have been exciting to be in battle,” Robert declared. “I would love to be a soldier. I would’ve killed the Huns.”

“Battle is not as glorious as we think before we are there,” Nigel said gently.

Zoe’s heart lurched as she saw the sadness touching his face.

“How many Huns did you kill, Uncle Nigel?”

“I do not know how many. War is a strange thing. They were just young men—with families and hopes and dreams. Many of them were scared. I learned one thing from war. It’s a tremendous waste. But what would have happened if we did not fight? That, I do not want to imagine.”

The boys stared at him, confused. Zoe hung on his every word. Sunlight bathed him, but he looked as if he could see the mud-filled front.

“Wasn’t it exciting and thrilling?” Robert asked.

“We always romance that—the adventure of battle. It’s not a reason to wage war. There are better adventures you could have. You could travel the world on a ship or a train when you grow up, Robert. That is what I want. For war to be behind us, for you to grow up in peace. I only hope, as the world changes, that people remember what it cost.”

This man...this man she could love. This man she wanted to be with. For a lifetime.

Nigel straightened. “But now it is time to pack up and go back to Brideswell. If you run back up to the ridge you might get some food before it is all put away.”

The young boys gave whoops, splashed out of the water and charged up the path.

With Julia and Sebastian, Zoe picked her way over the uneven dirt path to Nigel. She wished she was here alone with him. She ached to kiss him.

She loved him when he was like this—when he spoke from his heart, and she got a glimpse inside it.

“Will you be married in London?” Julia asked, her voice bubbly as they walked up to the ridge.

She and Nigel hadn’t talked about that. But she had to be married in New York.

Her home. Where she knew the rules.

When they reached the top of the hill, Sebastian took her empty glass and came back with one filled with the last of the champagne. He clinked his glass against hers. “I wish you every happiness, Zoe. And if my brother does not make you happy, I will return from Capri and have serious words with him.”

“So you have decided to go? I’m glad,” Zoe said. “I’d like you to be happy.”

Sebastian glanced toward Nigel, who was brushing mud off his trousers. “I haven’t told Langy yet. I doubt he’ll be pleased.”

“Nigel might surprise you. At heart, he is a very good man.”

Sebastian’s brows rose. “Proof that he loves you, if that’s the way he behaves around you.”

Zoe felt her cheeks go warm. “He loves you, too, you know.”

Footmen began to pack the picnic away. She saw Nigel take a seat next to his grandmother. The dowager sat looking out over the ridge, looking away from the setting sun at the river valley bathed in light.

“There is something I have to tell you, Grandmama,” he said.

To Zoe’s surprise, Nigel was as direct as she would have been. He took a leaf from Zoe’s book and said bluntly, “Zoe has broken her engagement to Sebastian, and I have proposed to her.”

The dowager blinked. “It is like a game of musical chairs—but one where everyone’s seat is pulled out from underneath them.”

 12 

A VISIT TO THE CHURCH

As the sun set and the picnic was packed away, Zoe watched while the children were herded into their seats in the vehicles; doors were closed so they could not run out and disappear.

She was engaged. She would be married. If she wanted, she and Nigel could have children of their own. She could watch him sail boats with their boys. Would he play tea parties, too, with the girls? She intended to ensure daughters would strive to do anything the sons did—

“Well,” said the dowager beside Zoe. “It appears Brideswell is to have an American duchess.”

Zoe held out her elbow. “Would you like me to help you to the car?” Her emotions were in too much of a tangle to argue with Nigel’s grandmother.

She had thought she would never love anyone but Richmond. But everything had changed....

Julia came forward, and the dowager took her granddaughter’s arm, ignoring Zoe’s offer.

“It’s the beginning of summer,” the dowager said. She was reminiscing to Julia as Julia helped her to the car. Zoe walked beside them.

“At my first picnic at Brideswell, I knew I was to marry the duke,” the dowager continued. “Our mothers had their hearts set on it. But by the end of the day, I had fallen in love—with someone else. An earl’s eldest son. But he died. A duel, of all things. He was a charming man, a thorough rogue and a terrible shot. Two days after, I accepted the Duke of Langford’s proposal. I cried all the way to the wedding. I stifled my tears for the ceremony and the wedding night, for Mother insisted my marriage would be a disaster unless I held in my tears until after that particular event.”

Julia blushed and Zoe felt her cheeks heat up. The dowager could be so surprisingly blunt.

She thought of Nigel, of course. Her wedding night would not be filled with tears.

“But you did fall in love with the duke eventually,” Julia said. She offered her arm to help the dowager to the Daimler.

“I never did. It was for the best, of course. He was as much a scoundrel. Just far better at avoiding being caught.”

“Do you think a woman should only marry for love now?” Julia asked.

“I think a woman in this modern age can finally choose to do what makes her happy. I am rather envious of you. And a lifetime of a marriage for duty is...a lifetime.”

Perhaps she understood the dowager more. A lifetime wed to a man you didn’t like? It would be torture.

Zoe was doing what made her happy—she knew, after seeing Nigel with his nephews, that she wanted her marriage to last.

The dowager touched her arm. The older woman studied her appraisingly. “You would never be satisfied with a sacrifice to make others happy, dear. Keep that in mind. Do not marry Nigel simply to become a duchess, my dear.”

“I’m not.”

Of course the dowager thought Nigel would not be happy with her. The dowager believed Nigel wanted a woman like Miss Strutt—even though that woman was the logical choice for a duty marriage, not a passionate marriage.

“I am marrying for love,” Zoe declared. “And we will be happy. I will make Nigel happy.”

“My dear, you cannot make someone else happy. The other person must find happiness in themselves.”

* * *

Mist rolled over the lawns, winding around Zoe’s legs, tumbling in front of her as she walked down to the stables the next morning. Her mare was already saddled with a gentleman’s saddle, the groom leading her out as she arrived. On his huge black stallion, Nigel waited for her. When he rode, he looked gorgeous. Romantic.

Last night, Nigel had sent her a note by footman. Folded, on cream writing paper, with a ducal seal embossed in wax to keep it closed. It had been so formal....

My dear Zoe, please ride with me tomorrow morning before breakfast. It is about the wedding and there’s something rather important I must ask you.

That was who he was on the surface—restrained, reserved, formal. But yesterday he had told her what was in his heart. And she had captured his heart.

She knew what she had told the dowager was true—she could help him recover from his wounds. She could make him happy. She had changed him already.

“Good morning,” she said as she swung up. “What did you want to ask?”

“Good morning to you, Miss Gifford.” He lifted his hat. “Let us ride first. But please take care in the fog. Stay close to me.”

Once she would have been goaded to tease him due to his formality. But now she knew what he could be like beneath it—passionate, and playful and sweet as he was with his nephews. It made his ducal behavior even more enticing.

He was an elegant rider. His body rose and fell in a smooth rhythm. He looked as if he’d been born to ride. They crossed the lawns, took the track through the meadow past her airplane—the first place she’d ever made love.

They hadn’t talked about the wedding.

“Nigel, let’s stop and talk,” she called. “What did you want to ask me?”

“Ride with me a little farther, Zoe.”

She had to keep her mare close enough to him to keep him in sight. What did he want? He hadn’t listened to the dowager, had he? Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore. “Do you want to back out?”

With a barely perceptible tug on the reins, Nigel halted his enormous horse and walked the beast around to face her. “No. Do you?”

“No. But you’re the one who sent a mysterious letter and now won’t tell me anything.”

“I want to ask if you would accept the sort of wedding I want, Zoe.”

“Usually the bride gets to choose—”

She broke off. The softness in his clear blue eyes took her breath away. She’d never seen this expression on his face.

“Zoe, I know you want to marry in New York. Your mother told me. Then declared she wanted a lavish wedding in London, preferably in the most impressive church. But I would like to marry here, at Brideswell. I know you may not wish to stay here, but I want to offer it to you as your home.”

But it wasn’t her home. It was a different world. “I don’t know. I had my heart set on New York for the wedding.”

Their horses trotted side by side, down the track that wound through the fields of the estate and took them to the village. They passed townspeople and Nigel acknowledged greetings from each one. He knew everyone, of course, and had a polite word for many. She saw the look on so many faces—it was like watching a group of girls meet Rudolph Valentino.

She followed him to the church, the one they had gone to for Sunday services. With easy grace, Nigel swung off his huge horse. She watched the play of his muscles under his coat.

Once they were wed, they could make love whenever they wanted.

Did she want to wait until they traveled to New York?

She tensed on the saddle, causing her mare to skitter on the spot. Quickly she stroked the silky white neck. “Easy, easy.”

What did she want to do? It had been so easy before, with Sebastian. Make a marriage in name only, free Mother from worry, then return to her life in New York, return to flying as fast as she could.

Now she wanted her marriage to last. But she was scared, too—she didn’t know England and English law. Was she willing to relinquish control? “If I insist on marrying in New York, will you do it?” she asked.

She expected him to refuse.

“If it is what you really want, I’ll do it.”

He was willing to bend for her? “Then why are we here?”

“Just give me this one chance.” He held out his hand to her.

She would do this, but she had no intention of marrying in Brideswell. Taking his hand, she dismounted. He led her into the old stone church.

Reverend Wesley came forward, hands outstretched. Zoe put out her hand to shake his, but he clasped both her hands and held them warmly. His was a kindly face, the smile bright and welcoming, his eyes brilliant blue. Wrinkles led out from his eyes and surrounded his mouth, as if he smiled often.

“Miss Gifford, I am so delighted to learn that you are to be His Grace’s bride. The entire village is filled with great cheer at the news. His Grace has told me to sing the praises of my little church. He tells me I am to tempt you away from returning to America to be married. I would not be so bold, I assure you, if His Grace had not assured me I have his full approval when I say I would be most honored if you do hold the ceremony here.”

She looked to Nigel.

“The whole village loves a wedding,” he said softly.

She didn’t want to offend the reverend. She was annoyed with Nigel. He was trying to back her into a corner. Well, Giffords didn’t allow themselves to be—

She had been already backed into a corner by her mother’s mistake.

But she didn’t want to be railroaded by her husband. Why had he not just talked to her?

“His Grace was christened here, by me,” the reverend continued, smiling kindly at her. “Many years ago, of course. But I have watched him and all his family grow from infancy. It would be a great honor for me to perform the ceremony.”

The reverend led her up the aisle, toward the altar.

“I promise, Miss Gifford, we will make the church look grand. It would be filled with flowers—we have some of the most spectacular roses in the country here, and if you were to wed in June, they will be blooming.”

He let her go and shuffled along the aisle. “We would have a choir, of course. And our organist is most skilled, as you no doubt observed in Sunday services. I know we are but a modest church, but the building dates from the Tudor period. Many great gentlemen and ladies have sat in our pews.”

Nigel had stood in the background. He stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Reverend Wesley, do not pressure Miss Gifford too strongly. I wanted her to see the church through your eyes and learn of its history. But I am not going to, as they say, use strong-arm tactics. I came to Sunday services here, as did my father. We’ve come for generations.”

“Your church is lovely, Reverend,” she said. But this was not her world. “Let’s walk around outside, Langford.”

Outside she wheeled on Nigel. “You brought me here because you thought I couldn’t say no to that kindly old man.”

“I don’t want to trick you, Zoe. I want to marry you here because I want to be married to you as fast as I can.”

“For Brideswell.”

“For me. I want to save my home, but I want you to be part of my life. I want you to stay with me.”

That took her breath away. A smart dame always had a perfect response. But nothing came to her lips. Nigel stepped close to her—tall and dark with stunning eyes.

“Zoe.” Just her name, and in his husky, tender voice, it made her melt.

In an old-world, gentlemanly gesture, he lifted her gloved fingers to his lips. She’d believed herself modern, but at this moment she felt like a princess being courted by the most wonderful prince.

“You touched my scars and told me you didn’t despise them. You’ve eased my fears about how wretched they look. But I feel I have not been honest with you.”

“What have you lied to me about?”

He winced at that. “I do not believe I’ve lied. But I have not told you the truth. Zoe, I am haunted at night by nightmares of battle. I wake shouting, drenched in sweat. That is why I use a bedroom in Brideswell that is away from my family’s rooms. Sometimes, the images I see in my head—sometimes I think I could lose my mind, Zoe. It has been four years, and I am still a wreck. Do you still want to marry me even knowing all that?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “That hasn’t changed my mind at all.” She thought of the dowager’s words. “I can make you happy.”

“I want to believe marriage will give us both a glorious future.”

She gazed into his clear blue eyes. “Do they really care about this wedding—all the people in the village?”

“It will be a grand fete. The entire village will come out to see you pass in the carriage on your way to the church. There will be cheering and joy.”

She could marry in New York, and there would not be crowds on the street. New York might be her home, but she felt a tug in her belly. Nigel had something she had never known—a true sense of belonging. “If we were to marry here, what would we do for a reception?”

A soft smile touched his lips. At her hint she might change her mind, he looked as if the sun had shone on him.

“Brideswell,” he said. “Tents would be set up on the lawns and the wedding breakfast would be served outdoors.”

“This is England. It will probably pour rain.”

“Then we would have it in the ballroom.”

“I don’t know.”

“Give me the chance to make you want to stay. I do not want to lose you to America, Zoe. I want a lifetime with you.”

“I—I wanted to marry for love, Nigel. I think it is time I was honest with you. You know that I lost my fiancé. I was deeply in love with him. I know you think it was a scandal. I am sure you think I was bold and shocking and wrong. But I was not the reason for his divorce. I loved him with all my heart and I lost him. I thought I would never fall in love again. But I was wrong—I think I am falling in love with you.”

“I won’t push you to do anything you are not ready to do, Zoe. I do love you.” He cupped her cheek and his palm caressed her skin. She turned her face into his hand.

Nigel kissed her in the churchyard. Not a sensual kiss, but a warm one. It sang of love.

She’d never kissed anyone like this before. She’d never shared a moment like this with anyone, even Richmond. The very air felt filled with lightning. Full of love and tenderness. But also of heat and such sensuality it made her weak in the knees.

Strong and firm, his hand splayed on her back and drew her tight to him.

Children’s squeals broke in on their kiss and she pulled back. A group of village children ran into the churchyard, chasing each other in play. Nigel didn’t pull back from the kiss—he leaned in and gave her one last quick one. Even though she’d thought a proper, staid gentleman would stop kissing her in front of children. He was changing.

“I will marry you here,” she whispered. “At Brideswell.”

* * *

Mother and the dowager had scrapped like two terriers over the engagement ball. That was nothing compared to the arguments over the wedding.

Zoe hurried down the stairs, pulling on her coat. She stalked up to her mother and the dowager. “Stop arguing, both of you. This is my wedding and it will be done exactly as I want it.”