Nightingale. Part 8

The duke had designated Jessica his good-luck charm and apparently wanted her to guide him through this current darkness, to remain for as long as he needed something or someone to advise and buoy him.

Perhaps she could arrange for someone else to perform her duties at the manor. If she made the offer sweet enough, her brother Brandon, two years older than she and unmarried, might agree to tend their mother until Devlin's eyesight returned.

Her most compelling argument for the duke's proposition had nothing to do with the properly fitted clothing, the gentlefolk running this household, or the ease Jessica enjoyed living in this place. The most persuasive consideration was Devlin Miracle himself.

Jessica was growing fond of this man, not of his t.i.tle or his wealth, but of his humor, his kindness, his gentle spirit, his innate sense of fairness. She wanted to nurture him, even if it meant encouraging his arrogance and his irascible temper along with his boisterous laughter and his pride ... him.

She would have to make arrangements first which meant she would have to leave him for a time.

Would he allow her to go away and trust her to return? Was their friendship yet that strong?

Chapter Six.

The sun had cracked through gray skies by the time Jessica finished her breakfast in the kitchen, where a dozen servants gathered only to be brusquely sent back to their duties by Odessa.

"Jessica!" Patterson's voice, uncharacteristically raised to a bellow, reverberated down the stairwell.

Odessa's eyes popped wide. "Patterson never raises his voice."

A butler appeared, breathless, and stopped still when he spied Jessica. "The master must be pa.s.sing over. Patterson is searching for you."

Patterson swooped into the kitchen and spied Jessica as she stood. "Quickly, Miss. He didn't like waking up to find you gone."

Jessica grabbed a clean cloth. Holding it by one corner, she dipped it in a kettle of boiling water, then touched it gingerly as she wrung out what she could of the surplus before following Patterson up the stairs.

"Where the h.e.l.l have you been?" Devlin shouted as Patterson announced Jessica's arrival.

"Below stairs in the kitchen, Your Grace." She stopped inside his room. He sat straight, not slumped against the pillows as before. "You are looking well, Your Grace. Your bellow sounds fit enough."

His color had improved and his posture appeared ramrod straight. From the set of his stubbled jaw, it was obvious the man was stronger and not in a mood to be trifled with.

His shout became a roar. "YOU ARE IN THIS HOUSE TO SERVE ME, JESSICA BLAIR, NOT TO DALLY IN THE KITCHENS."

"What?"

His voice dropped back to a shout. "Is there something wrong with your hearing?"

Jessica's pleasant disposition dissolved.

"You forget yourself, Your Grace. I am in this house as your guest. You yourself said so. I believe you mentioned something about my being dearer to you than a blood relative."

Devlin cleared his throat and the change in his demeanor was visible. "Yes, well ... I expect ... "

"Do you demand abject devotion from your poor relations, Your Grace? Insist they grovel? It is not my idea to stay and if you no longer require my attendance, we are agreed."

She took three long strides closer, which put her still a dozen steps from his bedside. She glanced at the soaking cloth she carried.

"In my concern, I delayed coming long enough to dip a rag into a kettle. Though it scalded my fingers, I brought it thinking to wipe your brow." Her last words sounded harsh. Setting her jaw, Jessica packed the rag into a tight ball, drew back and hurled the wad at his head. The missile came loose to make a sloshing sound as it flew.

Devlin leaned to his right. The sodden rag slammed into his pillow directly behind where his head had been seconds before, spraying the area, including the duke's shoulder and arm.

As had become her habit since the child's arrival, Lady Anne clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her startled laughter. The girl's temper was a match for her son's, even when his was at its best ... or worst.

The dowager had once told her husband they needed at least one daughter to whip the male-dominated household into proper shape. Jessica proved the dowager's point, even though her arrival had been delayed.

Neither Jessica nor the d.u.c.h.ess spoke as they watched Devlin feel for and find the sopping rag. He fumbled, trying to identify it without benefit of sight. Finally, he lifted it to the side, wrung it out, folded and placed it over his uncovered eye as he lay back against his pillows.

"Thank you, Nightingale. You are a thoughtful girl. I have a frightful headache. Will you be so kind as to fetch my Bible and read to me a little? I think perhaps something from Malachi. I may have need of a pa.s.sage regarding penitence. Do you agree?"

Jessica was unable to contain the laugh that spewed between her lips, in spite of their being firmly clamped shut. Her voice sounded marvelously calm as she spoke.

"Perhaps we both might benefit from such, Your Grace."

"What color is your hair, Nightingale?" Devlin asked when the reading had them calmed.

"Brown, Your Grace."

"Brown like a thrush?"

"More like mud."

"Ah. And your eyes?"

"I believe they are green."

"You don't know the color of your eyes?"

"Some say they are gray or brown. Others insist they are green. For my part, I have never been able to see the true color. I do not own a looking gla.s.s."

"Surely you have a mirror in your bedchamber here, a large one which reflects your entire body."

"Yes, but I ... I covered it, Your Grace."

"The mirror?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I found it embarra.s.sing, seeing so much of my person in such a forthright manner."

His mother's voice broke the silence. "Her eyes are hazel and the color changes, depending on the sky, the hue of her clothes and her mood."

He turned his head abruptly. "How long have you been here, madam?"

"I have been in the room since shortly after you sent for Jessica."

He looked annoyed. "Surely you did not fear for her safety."

The dowager allowed a quiet little laugh. "No. I knew she was in no danger from you, my treasure. I was just curious to see how she might soothe you this time. Her methods astound me."

"Yes ... well ... I suppose."

His laugh emerged as more of a rumble deep in his throat and was swiftly joined by the giggling of both the dowager and his Nightingale as they recalled her hurling the sodden towel.

That afternoon, His Grace summoned four seamstresses and Mrs. Freebinder, the modiste, from the village. He ordered that they bring bolts of cloth with weaves soft enough for a child's sensitive skin and in every color. He particularly requested colors of the rainbow, the sea, skies, and meadows. Jessica objected to the fuss as the ladies measured her from tip to toe, the circ.u.mference of her wrists and throat and head, and insisted she select her favorites from two dozen bolts of fabric. She had never seen such an array.

"Will you make kerchiefs for my hair to match the dresses?" she asked. Her question obviously stunned the ladies, who were accustomed to outfitting n.o.bility in his household - the dowager and her occasional guests. All females, even toddlers in a duke's family, wore bonnets trimmed in feathers and ribbons and jewels, not kerchiefs, which easily identified peasants.

Mrs. Freebinder, afraid of setting off the duke's famous temper, sought the dowager's advice: kerchiefs or bonnets? The duke's mother understood the dilemma.

"Kerchiefs will appease the wearer," the dowager said, "as long as Devlin is not able to see her. However, we had better have bonnets as well, to pacify him when his sight returns. Yes, we shall have both."

In her own statement, the dowager realized Jessica's optimism was infectious. She no longer doubted his eyes would recover.

Lady Anne retired to her private salon where she remained cloistered until she heard the dressmaker and her staff leaving. When she emerged, Devlin stood at the top of the stairs, tall and freshly shaven, his mustache and goatee trimmed to perfection. He took her arm.

"How did you know it was I?" she asked.

"Your fragrance, madam. Your scent is distinctive."

"I changed perfumes only this morning."

"I don't need your perfume to identify you. You are my mother."

Below, Jessica sat on a bench-like settee in the foyer pensively staring toward a window as mother and son reached the bottom of the stairs. Devlin turned immediately toward the brooding girl, surprising his mother with his uncanny ability to sense Jessica's presence without being able to see her. He said, "Come, child."

The girl afforded him only an icy glance before directing her frown back toward the window. "Your Grace. I am not a pet to heel at your call or whistle or the snap of your fingers."

He obviously struggled to subdue a smile. "I apologize, Miss Blair, for offending your sensibilities. My mother and I would consider it an honor if you would walk with us."

She stood and stepped to his side. "Your graceful apology is graciously accepted, Your Grace." She smiled at her permutations of his t.i.tle. Her tone deepened. "What do you think you are doing on your feet?"

He placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "Walking upright, as a man should. Now turn around, you mouthy wench, and lead us out into the sunshine."

The dowager released his arm. "I have things to check in the kitchen." Without waiting for leave, she turned and departed quickly.

Jessica wanted to pursue his casual observation. "How do you know the sun is shining, Your Grace?"

"I can hear it in your voice, in the lightness of your step. You love the out-of-doors. I can feel you straining at your bit, like a filly, eager to be turned out to romp. Are you not that impatient foal?"

"Yes I am, Your Grace." She led him toward the front door a footman opened as they approached.

"Then why were you sitting there in the corner, glumly studying the day instead of venturing out?"

"Concerns, Your Grace. I have concerns."

His hand on her shoulder drifted up to her nape, which was bare above the scooping neckline of her muslin day dress, one of Martha's. Like his mother, Jessica had a scent of her own. At the moment, her fragrance suggested she had been in the kitchen near the stove when morning tea was steeping, the stables where she'd absorbed the aroma of hay and horses, and in the garden where she had garnered the scent of roses, pine, and honeysuckle.

"What concerns, Jessica?" His fingers brushed her soft flesh, following the curve of her swanlike neck. Her hair, tied back, brushed his hand. He wrapped the abundance around a fist and gave it a teasing yank before losing his fingers in the baby-fine coils. He pulled tendrils to his nostrils and inhaled.

Aware of his playful hand studying her, Jessica rolled a shoulder to interrupt its wandering.

"I need to go home, Your Grace."

He froze and held a moment.

"Just for a day or two to see that things are set right," she added. She heard the catch in his voice as his expression darkened.

"I thought we had an agreement."

"Yes. We have. Of course, but this is my third day away. I must see to my mother, make sure she has food to eat, someone to check on her every day."

He inhaled. "I am lost every moment you are out of my ... " He stopped short of saying 'out of my sight.' "I cannot allow you to go." He hesitated. "What I mean is, I do not want you to go."

"I will be gone a day and a half. Two at the outside. You may discover, during that time, you've made a fool's agreement." She was baiting him. "If you change your mind, however, you must forfeit the reward anyway, as agreed."

He chuckled and the frown wrinkles smoothed from his forehead. "I have no doubt, Jessica Blair, that you are a vexation to every grocer and tradesman in Welter, harrying and dealing with the finesse of a seasoned monger. Is that an apt a.s.sumption?"

She bit her lips together and snickered away the question without answering.

Neighbors, tenants, two families from London who were staying at their country homes nearby, called that day, distracting the duke from his infirmity. Although Devlin felt as if they were there to gawk and satisfy their curiosity and gather gossip, he greeted them hospitably. Knowing the keep's layout as he did, it was fairly easy to move about, often making visitors forget his affliction.

When the ten-year-old daughter of a prominent n.o.ble family slid a chair away from its place in front of the hearth, however, Devlin b.u.mped it rather decisively and fell back a step before he regained his balance.

Noticing the child's look of satisfaction, Jessica grew more watchful. She skillfully maneuvered Devlin around subsequent obstacles, annoyed that the little girl's parents seemed oblivious to the child's continuing, intentional mischief.

Devlin insisted Jessica travel to Welter in his private coach, in spite of her objections that his shiny black carriage with the ducal coat of arms would draw too much attention.

To her surprise, the giant called Bear was a.s.signed to drive her. Devlin spoke to the man intently, as well as to Figg, a.s.signed as footman, then summoned six outriders to issue them their instructions.

From what Jessica could overhear, the duke charged each one individually and jointly with Jessica's safety, ordering that each defend her with his life, if need be. He promised handsome rewards for their returning her safely and at top speed to Gull's Way.