Nightingale. Part 5

As she gathered herself and prepared to stand, however, the d.u.c.h.ess called out. "Sophie, fetch the kettle to warm this water. And prepare the rinse kettles, as well."

Turning back to Jessica, the dowager said, "Stay just where you are, darling. You haven't yet had full benefit of the bath you so heroically earned." She hesitated, studying Jessica's dark, tangled hair. "Would you allow me to suds your hair for you?"

Stunned at the suggestion, Jessica didn't answer immediately, but ceased her effort to quit the tub.

"I'll do it," Odessa offered, suddenly reappearing from the far corner of the chamber where she had stood silently, allowing the two ladies uninterrupted conversation.

The d.u.c.h.ess seemed to have attached her mind to the idea. "I had only three sons," she said, regarding Jessica's dark, abundant curls. "They, of course, had nurses and governesses, while I traveled with their father much of the time." Her thoughts seemed to wander, before her eyes focused again on Jessica. "I would consider it a privilege to wash your hair for you, Jess."

The dowager adopted the abbreviated form of her name others sometimes insisted on using, against her mother's wishes.

With that, Lady Anne Miracle, the Dowager d.u.c.h.ess of Fornay, dropped to her knees, pushed up the sleeves of her gold brocade morning dress and grabbed the round cake of scented soap.

Chapter Four.

After looking in on a sleeping Devlin, Jessica spent the morning in a sort of stupor - her thinking dulled perhaps by her lack of sleep - waiting for the duke to rouse.

She paced to the broad windows of her chamber that looked out over gra.s.sy lots separated by fences. Sweetness grazed in one by the cart trail, the road the serving ladies indicated led to Welter. She should leave, but she wanted to see Devlin one more time, and then she would be away.

Turning from the window, Jessica eyed the full-length mirror, embarra.s.sed to see herself entirely from top to toe. She moved closer to inspect her reflection in greater detail, gathered the length of her dress and pulled it up, little at a time, afraid of shocking herself with saucy revelations. She had never seen herself - not all of her, anyway. She felt vain admiring her reflection so brazenly, yet her appearance came as a pleasant surprise. She was more proportionate, more attractive, than she had imagined.

Twisting, she attempted to view the exposed backs of her legs and hips. After much repositioning and lengthy study, she smiled into the reflection of her own face.

She dropped her skirts and tugged the scooping neckline off of one shoulder for further inspection. Biting her lips at her own audacity and surprised by her lack of modesty, she squirmed to unfasten the dress and pull it down to expose the chemise. Nervously, she slid the undergarment down to examine her full, rounded b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She cupped and examined each one from several angles, blushing and smiling at her own effrontery.

Her curiosity sated, Jessica readjusted her clothing and promised herself that, if she ever undressed in a room alone, a.s.sured of complete privacy, in front of such a mirror, she would take full, unrestricted views of her person.

She needed to be getting home as soon as she saw the duke and said her good-byes.

Thoughts of that meeting and their conversation were interrupted by a commotion downstairs, like earlier ones that urged her out of her room to steal a look below.

More callers, like those who had besieged the house through the morning, bearing gifts and food and inquiring after the duke. Jessica watched the comings and goings undetected. The visitors made her realize the duke was well known and, obviously well enough, admired ... maybe even loved.

Slipping downstairs, careful to avoid straggling visitors, staff, and family members, she marveled at the solarium, which might be a ballroom, if there were not already another vast chamber so designated. She stood in awe at the door to the great library that boasted four ladders extending to shelves high overhead.

When Patterson, the majordomo, caught her sometime later standing at the door of a small salon, she started and apologized.

"You are welcome to enjoy this room, as well as any others," he said. "This salon is for entertaining small groups of ladies making social calls. It is probably where you will entertain your guests."

She smiled at the idea of her friends calling upon her here. Penny Anderson would probably swoon dead away if she were escorted into such a chamber.

"And the duke's gentlemen friends? Where does he entertain them?"

Patterson indicated she should follow and led her to another salon near the library on the other side of the entry. "This is the duke's study and his office where he meets with businessmen from time to time."

"Where does he entertain his female callers?"

Patterson frowned. "He does not have female callers here, my lady."

She lowered her voice. "Will you tell me something of the older son, then, and how Devlin came to acquire the t.i.tle? Was there bad blood among the three?"

"No, my lady." The man's face softened. "Master Rothchild, the eldest, was devoted to duty. He did things properly and well, groomed as he was from birth to be a duke."

Hoping this reminiscing might take a while, Jessica settled lightly on a window seat, prepared to listen.

"Master Rothchild was mortally injured in a duel over the reputation of Lady Jane Sequest, a woman who, it is said, maintains a list of men who died defending her honor. She added two names to her list that morning. Master Roth's opponent died, gasping for air around the ball lodged in his throat. The dying man's shot went through Roth's liver and pierced a kidney."

The old servant seemed to age, diminishing as his shoulders slumped with the memory. While Jessica did not like seeing his distress, she thought speaking of the death of a loved one sometimes aided the handling of one's grief. Also, she was curious about how the elder son's demise affected the family.

"The damage to either organ would have been fatal," Patterson continued, as if he were alone. "A London physician told us it scarcely mattered which failed first. The family returned to Gull's Way, the ancestral home."

Suddenly, he glanced into her face and regarded Jessica earnestly, as if concerned that she understand the import of his words. "Master Roth spent his final days in excruciating pain, not only his, but his family's.

"Until then, Devlin - that is, His Grace - had been the lighthearted middle son. He was a better scholar than Master Roth. Of course, he did not have the pressure that weighted Master Roth's efforts.

"As Master Roth lay dying, Devlin grew solemn as he antic.i.p.ated a role he felt ill-prepared to take up. His father a.s.sured him, but the old duke's grief had himself tied in knots. He loved each of his sons equally, but he had not considered his second son might acquire the t.i.tle."

Patterson paused and Jessica patted the cushion beside her. He eased onto the far end of the window seat. A glint of tears seeped from the corners of his eyes.

"Of course, Devlin had the intelligence and the courage to a.s.sume the responsibilities," she suggested, to waylay his sadness and keep him talking.

"You may be a.s.sured of that, Miss. He is, after all, a Miracle. Blood will tell."

"What of Lattimore? Did he share the family's grief?"

Patterson regarded her with what looked like annoyance. "Certainly, Miss, although Master Lattie was only thirteen at the time."

Quiet for a moment, Patterson smiled slightly at what seemed a bittersweet memory. "It was the youngest who said, 'At least a fatal injury, rather than instantaneous death, provided time for us to say farewell, and to adjust.'"

"Did his experience make his brothers more aware of the dangers in duels and other ridiculous gestures?"

Patterson gave her a wry smile. "No. Rather than making the young masters more cautious, Roth's pa.s.sing made life the most intriguing gamble of all. His Grace, particularly, tossed life's dice fiercely, daring fate to take up his often-flung gauntlet.

"Eventually, Master Lattie, too, followed the pattern set by both of his elder brothers."

Patterson stood abruptly. "Please forgive me, Miss. I don't know what possessed me to confide this family's private concerns. I generally am not given to gossip."

Rising to her feet as well, Jessica smiled. "You are a discreet man, Mr. Patterson. You only disclosed as much as you thought proper and only to one you recognized as a friend who admires this family, though not nearly as much as you, nor for nearly so long. Thank you, Mr. Patterson, for trusting me. I will reward your trust with my own discretion."

He stiffened and regarded her down the length of his rather imperial nose. "You may address me simply as Patterson."

"That does not seem respectful, Mr. Patterson, what with the difference in our ages. Not unless, of course, you will consent to call me by my Christian name. I hereby give you permission - insist, even - that you call me Jessica."

His forehead wrinkled as his eyebrows arched.

"I am a scullery maid, sir, not a lady," she said quietly.

He snorted a half laugh. "I shall not mention your former position to a living soul, Miss, and I would advise you not to do so either."

"All right, it will be our secret. Now that we have shared such intimacies, will you call me by my name?"

Again, he appeared to think before his brow smoothed. "If I do, then you must call me by my Christian name as well. Tims."

She offered a well-scrubbed hand. Smiling broadly, he took it, sealing their bargain. Odessa, the housekeeper, chose that moment to exit the library, almost running into them both.

"Say, now, what's going on 'ere?" she asked.

Patterson's face resumed its closed expression. "Were you eavesdropping?"

Odessa looked as if she might burst before a glance at Jessica cut her anger. She regarded Patterson with a sympathetic smile. "This one," she indicated Jessica, "undermines a person's natural reticence."

Patterson drew a breath, and then exhaled as if surrendering. "That is an astute observation, Odessa. Now, kindly act as the lady's guide and show her the rest of the house?" He put emphasis on the word 'lady.' Jessica flashed him a conspiratorial smile as he abruptly turned and abandoned them.

Odessa giggled. "You do have a way with you, child."

"I am no child, Odessa."

"So you keep reminding us." Odessa nudged Jessica's arm and led her toward another set of double doors. The older woman babbled, spewing information as she guided Jessica through dining rooms - one large, one small - and into the kitchen, a vast s.p.a.ce Jessica decided needed to be as large as it was if only to accommodate the number of staff in and out.

The kitchen contained cabinets and countertops, cook stoves, basins beneath pumps that brought water directly into the house, and a long trestle table flanked by equally long benches. Chairs graced either end.

Jessica left the kitchen as activity began with preparations for the noon meal.

She was his amulet, his charm, the spindly child with the long legs, tiny waist, and bony shoulders. He could almost feel again the warmth of her small, round bottom situated comfortably between his thighs. He was amazed by his mother's interest in and approval of the child. Of course, the dowager was partial to the female offspring of her friends and even staff. Maybe she felt inadequate at having produced only sons, a feat which pleased his father.

His father, the eleventh Duke of Fornay, had been dead more than three years now. Some said he died of a broken heart after the loss of his eldest son.

Devlin didn't believe that.

Propped in his bed, bathed, comfortably drifting in and out of sleep, the n.o.bleman smiled recalling his brothers and their youthful exuberance, how they pleased their father, each in his own way. They were none of the three alike, not in looks or dispositions or talents.

After Roth's death and before the old duke's pa.s.sing, Devlin dedicated himself to enjoying life. He bought and raced horses, invested in and worked aboard cargo ships, dallied with well-bred ladies, all riskier than putting money on a gaming table. No chance was too great, no stakes too high.

He had been lucky, his every enterprise charmed ... until now. He turned his head to press the side of his face against the pillow to hide an unexpected tear that seeped from the corner of his unbandaged eye.

Had fate at last been tempted beyond enduring? Was his blindness a summons, calling in payment for his recklessness?

Devlin swiped at the tear and rocked his head from one side to the other, trying to get comfortable, annoyed that Dr. Brussel, who had poked and prodded, hadn't been able to restore his eyesight or even to say with any conviction whether the loss was temporary or permanent.

Hot, he shoved his bed linens to one side. He wanted someone to come bathe his face and throat with the cool cloth. No, not someone. He wanted his Nightingale.

Devlin's restless movement stopped when he heard laughter in the hallway and voices. It was Jessica and one of the upstairs maids giggling about something young females giggle about.

Instead of annoying him, their laughter lifted his spirit. His Nightingale was sensitive. Obviously she was not concerned about his condition. She would not be laughing if his situation were dire.

Her laughter gave him a sense of well-being that came from having her in the house.

He clung to her spirit, a buoy in a rough sea; his good-luck piece, a tiny sprite who weighed less than seven stone, yet who had been clever enough to find and recover him, and strong and ingenious enough to transport him safely home.

Acceding to the dowager's request that she remain nearby until Devlin awoke, Jessica wandered outside, absorbing the early spring sunlight.

The gardens at Gull's Way were magnificent, and she wondered how they looked when the bountiful buds bloomed. Of course, she would be in Welter then, spending golden summer mornings in the dank scullery. If she remembered, she might imagine standing here, enjoying the feeling and fragrances of clean body, clean hair, clean clothing, and flowers about.

A horse's nickering called her from her reverie, and she turned to find Sweetness stretching his neck over a wooden fence near a wooded area.

"h.e.l.lo," she called, happy to see a familiar face, even if it belonged to a horse.

As she approached his paddock, he wheeled and ran to the far side, kicking, propelling clumps of dirt her way.

"I am happy to see you, too," she said, laughing at his antics. "You appear to have suffered no ill effects from your night's burden." She lowered her voice. "Are you well rested, my hero? My Sweetness?"

The horse ambled closer in what appeared an attempt to hear her better.

"Silly. I know you cannot understand my words."

As if answering, he whickered softly, trotted to the fence and stretched his neck across, putting his head within her reach.

Rather than simply petting him, she climbed up two rails on the fence, wrapped her arms about his head, and pressed her nose to his warm, smooth neck.

Her mother recommended Jessica adopt a kitten to learn affection. Truly she loved Behavior, the cat, and the hens. After last night, however, Jessica knew the enchantment of true love, for she was bedazzled by her dark, compa.s.sionate hero; a horse of unconquerable spirit.

Behavior, the kitten, had grown into a cuddling cat. Jessica smiled. Her new pet probably would snuggle just as cozily in her lap, if his size would allow it.

Giggling softly at that image, she kissed the horse's long face as she scratched behind his ears, beneath his chin, and rubbed his velvety nose. Sweetness was the first true love of her life. Their meeting had aroused raw, disturbing feelings she had never known before, a longing awakened soon after she met the stallion.

Of one thing she was sure. The new excitement had not emanated from the man. The duke was too aloof. She shook her head to dismiss such an unwelcome suspicion.

A large bay mare trotting up and down the fence in the paddock one over issued a shrill whinny. The stallion's ears twitched against his head and he turned, baring his teeth, and answering with a shriek of his own.

"Uh-oh," Jessica said, smiling at the mare in spite of herself. "I think you have some explaining to do. Your lady doesn't approve of your spending time with other females, even one with only two feet."

The stallion tamped a forefoot, and turned his head back to Jessica, b.u.mping her shoulder playfully with his nose.

Figg, the head groomsman, stepped to the stable door and whistled.

Sweetness whirled and threw clods of dirt, which Jessica dodged, as the huge horse crossed the lot, racing for the stable.