Strathmere's Bride. Jacqueline Navin
however. Of course, there should be occasional outings, but these should proceed in an orderly fashion with an eye toward their education. Perhaps a stroll to the pond to observe the ducks and other aspects of nature.” She was sitting perfectly still. He inclined his head forward and lowered his voice slightly, lending an illusion of conspiracy. “During these times they will conduct themselves as ladies should, you understand. The kind of romping the children presently engage in should be kept to contained places where they may not be inadvertently observed. The walled garden beyond the kitchens, for example, is a lovely place.”
She remained quiet. This encouraged him. “Also, I am told their manners at tea are atrocious. I should like to begin taking tea with them so as to help with their instruction in this regard.”
Chloe felt her eyes snap wide and a snorting sort of laugh escaped her before she could stop it. She brought her hand up quickly over her mouth. Visions of the duke seated at the tea table with the children, observing their antics—which were, she would agree, deplorable for gentle company but perfectly natural for children of their age—were decidedly funny.
The duke snapped his mouth shut and stared at her. She disliked that look. She had seen it before. It was how the dowager duchess always regarded her.
Coughing, she brought herself under control. “I am sorry, your grace. Please continue.”
He waited a good minute or more before he spoke again. “I wish to be more involved with my nieces, and I shall be. I will be overseeing their instruction and so I expect to see progress in the areas of self-discipline.” He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together over his chest.
Chloe had had enough pretense. Politely, she said, “But that is no compromise, your grace. It is what you have wanted all along.”
He didn’t move, didn’t even blink.
Then he smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile.
“Miss Pesserat,” he began with studious patience. “I am going to see that my nieces are brought up as proper ladies of their station should be, with or without your cooperation.”
Was he threatening her? “Monsieur, are you saying you will dismiss me if I do not agree?”
“If you think your position in this house, and in those children’s lives, is utterly inalterable, I will tell you, Miss Pesserat, that I will not hesitate to terminate your employment here regardless of the dire warning of the doctor—of which I can only assume you are aware, since you seem uncannily sure of yourself. This I will do if I determine the damage to the children would be greater if you were to stay than to go.”
A sick, heavy feeling pressed down on her chest, making her feel slightly ill. Chloe tried to determine whether or not he was bluffing.
Not that she cared a whit for the position. Or Strathmere or England for that matter. But the children..
That she could not have. It was a sacred trust her beloved cousin had given her. Bethany had brought her into her children’s lives to help strike a balance between the constraints of the girls’ societal position and the more simple pleasures life had to offer.
Friends since girlhood, Bethany had always said Chloe had a talent for living. Chloe hadn’t understood what she meant, for the manner in which she approached life was completely natural to her. However, she had recognized the blatant appeal in her cousin’s letter and accepted the position. When she arrived at Strathmere, she had seen immediately what Bethany had feared—that her precious daughters would miss out on all the joie de vivre and lead, if it were up to the dowager duchess, a dreary existence dominated by etiquette, restraint and, above all, moderation.
Chloe looked at Jareth with cool assessment. “You would pitch the children into another loss so soon after the death of their parents just so you might have your way? Is it so important, then, to win?”
He was visibly taken aback, stunned to hear it put that way. Recovering quickly, he countered, “I will take whatever steps necessary to protect and guide my nieces.”
“You spent too many years at the bargaining table, your grace. Your mother loved to tell everyone of your great success, so I know you were a very good businessman. But this is not a cargo we are speaking of, but little ones, precious to me.”
“And to me,” he added sharply.
She shook her head. “You do not even know them. You were not here when they lost their mama and papa. You do not hold Rebeccah in your arms at night while she cries out. You say you know what is best for them, but how can you know?”
He paled. “How can you?” he challenged, but his voice lost its edge.
She gave him a little smile. “I do not know, your grace. I only follow what is in my heart.”
He stayed silent, watching her with those dark, dark eyes. They were like pools of pitch. Something passed over them, an indefinable emotion Chloe didn’t understand. She didn’t have any hope of him comprehending what she was trying to accomplish with the children, and she certainly didn’t expect to win his approval. But she would not be dismissed.
Drawing in a long breath, he said, in a steady, deep voice, “I will not argue with you, Miss Pesserat. I have a duty to my nieces that I shall see done to the best of my ability. You—” he paused”—shall make your own choices.”
“Yes,” she said quietly, standing. “You speak of duty as if only a duke could truly know its meaning. I have a duty as well, your grace.”
With that, she strode to the door, bracing herself for some comment, some parting gibe he would throw out in order to have the last word. When it didn’t come, she placed her hand on the doorknob and glanced back over her shoulder. The duke was watching her, body stiff, face inscrutable.
It was then it struck her that she had been wrong. He wasn’t interested in “winning,” as she had accused him. She saw the troubled look on his face and it wasn’t anger. He truly cared about his nieces. He wanted what was best for them.
But he was, of course, wrong.
She turned back around and left, heading to her room.
It didn’t matter what his motives were. Chloe loved her cousin’s daughters with a fierce protectiveness, no less than if they had been her own. She would not allow the duke to destroy them, even if he did it with the best of intentions.
In the drawing room, Helena Rathford arranged her skirts with a quick flick of her wrist, then gave a nod to her accompanist seated at the pianoforte. Her mother nodded back and struck the first chord.
Jareth watched the young woman, impressed with her grace, her self-possession, her lovely face. Hers was a commanding kind of beauty—strong, high cheekbones with slashing hollows underneath, thin lips of bright primrose, a fine nose and chin, all framed with silvery-blond hair. She closed her pale lashes over ice-blue eyes, drew in a breath and began to sing.
Her voice was magnificent. Jareth stood transfixed for a moment as Helena gave life to the notes. It appeared to be almost painful, as if she dragged the melody up from her soul to set it free into the air.
Something, the touch of her gaze perhaps, made him glance at his mother. She was looking back at him, a crafty, knowing smile just slightly twisting her lips. Her eyes slid away, but there was satisfaction in them, he saw.
Jareth was no idiot, which was what he would have to have been to be oblivious to his mother’s intentions with regard to Lady Helena Rathford. He glanced up, examining the woman his mother wanted him to marry. Beauty, breeding, accomplished in the arts, congenial and pleasant. His mother’s discriminating taste had ferreted out a superior specimen of womanly excellence.
The music washed over him, and he let it take him with it