Her Mystery Duke (35 page)

Oh, but wait. She had to tell David. First she had to tell
him and then she could return to her dreams and frolic in the springtime sun.

She opened her eyes again. “I will write the stories. The
ones to draw attention to the plight of the insane.”

She slipped down the well…

* * * *

David watched Jeanne slip back into unconsciousness with a
crushing sensation in the center of his chest. The doctors couldn’t say if she
would recover. She had apparently bled beneath her skull.

On the road for his trip to Scotland, his carriage wheel
axel had broken, necessitating a lengthy wait in a crowded coaching inn.
Already in a foul mood over his quarrel with Jeanne and the prospect that they
might really be at an end, he had sat in the public room, waiting for a private
chamber to be readied.

A young couple had drawn his attention. The man had a
pronounced limp and a rather lost, almost dumb look in his eyes. His wife was
most solicitous of him as they entered. What had struck him most deeply was her
attitude of utter patience as they sat at a table and she spoon-fed him. Not a
shade of resentment crossed her face. Not even once.

A young wife should expect to have a strong husband with a
commanding presence. Not someone who required her constant help and guidance.

When he had asked her about her husband’s health, she had
replied in soft, cheerful tones that he’d suffered an apoplexy from the high fever
of measles. It had happened recently, only months before. The doctors were
hopeful of further recovery. They were headed to his parent’s home in the
country where wholesome air and plenty of sunshine might better aid his
recovery.

“And if he doesn’t recover, well, he is not only my husband
but the man I love. I must accept and love him as he is now or what good is my
love?”

Alone in his private chamber, David had found her words
rested on him uneasily.

He’d prided himself on his own tolerance for others. But
what good was his tolerance if it wasn’t great enough to allow him to love and
accept Jeanne in the way she needed to be loved and accepted? It didn’t matter
if she were to be nothing more than his mistress for the remainder of their
days. He had to be happy with what she was capable of giving him. Hadn’t his
father broken his mother by refusing to allow her to simply be as she was, to
accept her in all her frailty?

Once a carriage had been ready, he had turned around and
returned to Jeanne’s house, ready to apologize. Ready to tell her that it
didn’t matter if she wrote simple children’s stories, and it didn’t matter if
she never felt strong enough to tour an insane asylum with him. He’d come to
see that his tolerance meant nothing if it didn’t apply to the most important
woman in his life.

Improving the world at the personal level was just that.
Personal. It meant loving those closest to one in the way they needed to be
loved.

But was it all too late? He would do anything if only she
would live. He would give his own life if he could. She had to live. She had
to!

Impotent rage energized him. Just sprung from the chair and
began to pace the chamber. He was so damned angry at himself. He should have
seen how insane Toovey had become. He should have guarded against Isabella’s
envy. He should have taken better care of Jeanne when he had the chance.

He glanced back at the bed. She looked so pale. The bruise
on her forehead was a splash of brilliant color against that pallor.

Pain sliced through him, as though he’d been knifed in his
guts. But no, she was too young to die, wasn’t she? Pressure in his throat
nearly gagged him. He swallowed hard.

Christ. She had suffered so much in her life. He had wanted
to change her life. He had only begun to show her his love. To shower her with
every luxury he could give her. To try and increase her happiness. Then he had
become just as demanding as his father and put a wedge between them. He had
left her alone and the wolves had come to tear her to shreds. Oh damn it all.
Sweet, caring, giving Jeanne. Nausea gnawed into his stomach. He had hurt her.
How could he have hurt her when he loved her more than his own life?

All the anger drained out of him, leaving him weak.

The pain was already more than he could take. How would he
ever bear being without her now? His work and his life would be meaningless
without her. He went and knelt by her bed and put her hand to his cheek. “Live,
Jeannie, please live and grow old with me.” His voice was horse in his own
ears. Her hand had grown wet.

* * * *

Jeanne opened her eyes again. The light did not hurt them so
terribly. It seemed just a moment had passed. But she had some recollections of
other awakenings and falling back to sleep. She also did not feel the same
overpowering exhaustion.

She was in that chamber where Isabella had sent her for the
lavender oil. Where Toovey had attempted to attack her. She would have been
horrified. But David was here. He would keep her safe.

He was wearing different clothes and the sun shone on the floor
in the pattern that told of morning. It seemed it had been afternoon before.
David, her beloved, sat there, lost in thought, half turned away from her. His
handsome features a polite yet aloof-looking mask. Maybe he looked a little
superior, even haughty. He appeared much as he had that day she’d gone to visit
him at his chambers.

Then he glanced at her. His eyes widened and then warmth
entered his gaze, as brilliant as sunlight. “My love.”

His deep voice sent pleasure through Jeanne. She returned
his smile.

“My love.” Passionate feeling reverberated in his tone. He
dropped to his knees, beside her bed, took her hand, and pressed it to her
cheek.

“David.”

“It’s not just an endearment, you know. I truly do love you.
For so many reasons.” He pressed her palm more firmly to his cheek. “I want to
tell you each and every one of those reasons, and I shall very soon.”

Her cheeks ached from smiling too broadly. “I love you as
well.”

“Are you hungry?”

After such weighty declarations, the practical, mundane
question startled her. She stared at him dumbly.

His beautiful green eyes shone with tenderness. “You must be
hungry. You’ve been sick for days and have had only liquids.”

Roused at the topic of conversation, her stomach growled.
The sound echoed loudly in the silence. An embarrassing reaction for such a
romantic moment. She laughed softly and placed her free hand over it. “Yes,
actually, I think I am.”

He arose and called for a light meal to be brought to her. And
she ate it with surprising gusto. It did not twist and torment her stomach,
either. She drifted into another nap.

When she awoke, he was lying beside her but he was not
sleeping. She turned to him and he cupped her face. “I will write the stories,
David.”

“I know, you told me that a few days ago.” He smiled at her,
broadly. “But you don’t really have to, not if it is too painful.”

“I want to.”

“I meant what I said yesterday. We shall be wed, quickly and
quietly.”

“You can’t marry me. It wouldn’t be good for your political
career. Your future.”

“You are my future.”

“Goodness. You can’t throw all that away.”

“Jeanne, the Watch did decide that, given all who were
involved with the events at Isabella’s house the other day, it would be prudent
to keep things quiet. You were correct. Toovey wasn’t worth killing. He’s
completely insane and it happened so slowly that those around him weren’t fully
aware of what was happening. His uncle has come and taken him away to the
country. He’ll be cared for and watched. It’s in everyone’s best interests to
hide what’s happened. But things like this have a way of leaking out. And when
that happens, my marrying a commoner will be the least of it.”

“A commoner whose father was insane?”

“The least of it, Jeanne.”

He sounded so resigned. Her heart panged for him. “I am
sorry, David.”

“None of it was your fault. I sowed the seeds for all of
this drama in my youth.”

“We cannot be held accountable forever for the mistakes and
misfortunes of our youth.”

“No, we cannot, Jeanne, and you must stop punishing yourself
for what happened between yourself and your father. You did the best you could
with little life experience and limited funds. I am sure he understood. I am
sure he forgave you in his heart.”

“I’d like to believe that.”

“We have a whole life we can share. We have to look forward
now. Will you marry me?”

“Yes, I will.” How calmly she accepted this. But it still
didn’t seem real. She suspected she was yet dreaming.

* * * *

A few days later, David watched Jeanne as she sat in Thérèse’s
garden with her face turned up to the afternoon sun. A wreath of pink roses
adorned her hair and she wore a simple white day dress with a broad sash of
silver cloth. She was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

Jeanne was going to be just fine. The doctor had assured him
so just yesterday.

And she was finally his.

Weeks ago, he had procured a special license before he’d
left on his aborted trip to Scotland. He hadn’t known what would have
transpired on that trip if Jeanne had gone with him and he’d wanted to keep all
options open.

And so this morning, while the clock swung up from
eleven-thirty to noon, they had been wed in the parlor with Thérèse and Lord
Henry Somerville as witnesses. Henry proved to be his usual quiet, sober self
and had watched the proceedings with a stony expression. What did he feel about
Isabella’s death? There was no way to know. But he shook David’s hand and
nodded to Jeanne, giving her his best wishes before he left.

Thérèse had smiled and cried and given them both lavish
wishes for a lovely life and many, many, many children.

Jeanne had smiled in return but David saw her lips tremble
and wondered inside if she were altogether ready for “many, many, many
children.” There would be so many adjustments for her to make. The transition
wasn’t going to be easy. He would do whatever he could to smooth the way for
her but he couldn’t shelter her completely.

Jeanne and David had remained here, for the doctor had
warned against moving her too soon. But today they would go home. He was
impatient to be going.

He stood behind Jeanne’s chaise lounge. “My love.”

She looked back and up at him. The bruises on her forehead
gave him a wince of pain. And then she smiled and he scarcely noticed them. He
only saw her.

He bent and placed the gentlest of kisses on her cheek. “It
would be best if we left London for a while. As soon as you are completely
well. Where would you like to spend our wedding trip?”

“I would like to go to Paris.”

“Paris?”

“We could take Thérèse. She said you never made it to
Paris.”

David froze, completely taken aback. “I don’t want to take
Thérèse on our wedding trip.”

“But I do.”

“Your heart is too soft.”

“You said you wanted to soften all my hard edges.”

That made him smile and he placed his hands under her head
and gathered the spill of her curls, appreciating their silken texture. Adoring
the way they glistened like spun gold. “So I did.”

“I am happier for it and I want to share that happiness.”
Her smile widened, becoming as bright as sunshine. Her eyes were as blue as the
sky. Bluer.

Mixed emotions arose. Pride at her ability to overcome her
prejudice against those who suffered mental illnesses. Pleasure in her gentle,
compassionate nature. But he didn’t share her enthusiasm for this plan.

“Even if I wanted Thérèse with us, she is much too ill for
such a journey.”

“She’s dying— it is her last chance.”

Jeanne’s gaze was so earnest, he couldn’t bear it. He
glanced away for a moment, folding his hands in his lap. This wasn’t the
conversation he wanted to be having with his new bride on their wedding day.
Then he blew out a long exhalation and turned back to her. “Brighton. She can
travel as far as Brighton.”

“Brighton?”

“Or we’ll send her to Bath. But I think Brighton is best.”

“Why not Paris?”

“The channel would make her too ill. We shall hire enough
attendants so that she is as comfortable as possible. But they can take her to
Brighton, not Paris. And we shan’t accompany her.”

He released her hair and came around to sit by her on the
chaise.

She tilted her head to one side. “No? Why not?”

“Because I would rather take you north. I have a small
hunting lodge. It is quite isolated there by the sea, and I think you would
vastly prefer it to Brighton.” He lifted her hand and pressed it to his cheek.
“I feel very selfish. I want you all to myself. For a whole month I think.”

“I find the idea of being isolated with you for a month very
appealing.” Then she dropped her mouth open, as though something just occurred
to her. “She may die whilst we are gone.”

“I know.” He waited for the usual tightening in his guts.
The blistering self-blame. Nothing came except for a calm joyfulness to be here
with Jeanne. “I have spent much time and energy maintaining a bond with Thérèse
out of the guilt I felt when she first became ill. I believed I had set her on
that path. I believed I had taken away all her options. But she made her own
choices. We were both young and we both made mistakes. I think it is time for
me to let go of that guilt.”

She touched his face. “Thank you for agreeing to a trip for
Thérèse.”

He placed his hand over hers. “It will be an expense and
quite an undertaking for the people directly involved. She’s not always easy to
manage.”

“I suspect as much, but it will mean so much to her.”

“I am only doing this for you because I know you have seen
traces of your Papa in Thérèse’s plight.”