The Valentine Legacy (Legacy 3)

“Never mind. Someday my ears will attune themselves to you. At least I’ve learned to lock the door whenever the Duchess and I are involved in, well . . . never mind that. What do you want?”

“There is a strange young person here, my lord. Not a young person who is strange, just a young person I’ve never seen before. She asks to see you. She walked right up to the front doors and knocked. She looks somewhat like my dear Maggie playing the role of a disreputable waif, demanding to see the lord of the manor.”

“She wants work, you think? Send her to Mrs. Emory.”

“Well, you see, my lord, there’s something about her, other than the obvious fact that she’s from the Colonies.”

“What? The deuce, you say, Sampson. The Colonies?” The earl rose, rubbing his hands together. “She must know James. She must be here because of James. You’re certain it’s not Aunt Wilhelmina, aren’t you, Sampson? She asked for me, you say?”

“No, my lord. It isn’t That Woman. As for the young person, well, actually, she wants the Duchess. I doctored the truth just a bit since the Duchess is feeling a bit on the poorly side.”

“She’s off the poorly side as of luncheon. Tell you what, Sampson, get the Duchess and the both of us will see this young person from the Colonies who has the look of Maggie. Does she have a name?”

“Jessica Warfield, my lord.”

Ten minutes later, Sampson, the Chase butler since his twenty-fifth year, led a very pale, very determined young person into the Green Cube Room, a chamber that had intimidated a baron only last month with its magnificent painted ceiling set between beams covered with lavish geometric designs and opulent gilt furnishings. The Turkey carpets on the floor were at least a hundred years old, yet their reds and blues and yellows shone in the afternoon sunlight coming through the front windows. There were paintings on the walls that had to be older than the Colonies.

Jessie was intimidated. Even more, she was terrified. She was the greatest fool to be born on this planet. She dutifully walked behind a very handsome man who was obviously the butler, but who hadn’t turned his nose up at her. Indeed, he’d been stiffly kind. She remembered James speaking of handsome Sampson, who’d married Maggie, the Duchess’s red-haired maid, who’d been an out-of-work actress before she’d come into the Duchess’s employ. She hoped this was Sampson, for James had always grinned whenever he spoke of him, telling her how he was the only one who could control Maggie, and he had to grow more clever by the year to succeed.

“My lord. My lady. This is the young person from the Colonies. Miss Jessica Warfield.”

So this was Marcus and the Duchess, she thought as she forced her feet to move forward. Marcus was dark and tall and so handsome even she wanted to swoon, something she’d never before considered doing in the company of any man. So dark he was yet he had the deep blue eyes of an angel. Except angels smiled, didn’t they? He wasn’t smiling. On the other hand, neither was he frowning. She looked at the woman standing beside him. The Duchess. She wrote the clever ditties that James occasionally hummed or sang at the top of his lungs. She’d supported herself long before she’d become the Countess of Chase. Surely she was too beautiful to be so resourceful. Surely God wasn’t being fair to dish out so much to one single individual. Like her husband, the Duchess had black hair and blue eyes and the whitest skin Jessie had ever seen. Unlike the earl, the Duchess smiled at her, a full, easy smile that made Jessie even more nervous.

“Oh dear,” she said, looking again from the earl to the countess, “this is certainly a flagrant intrusion. I know it is and I’m so sorry for it. But you see, James has told me so much about both of you—and all about Badger and Spears and Sampson and Maggie—that—”

The earl broke in easily, “James Wyndham? My cousin?”

“Yes, I race against James and many times beat him. Oh dear, I didn’t mean to say that. Now you’ll never believe I’m a lady.”

The Duchess stepped forward, her hand held out. “I thought your name sounded familiar, Miss Warfield. James has spoken of your family over the years. Welcome to our home. Since you’re a friend of James’s, you’re welcome here. Now, come and sit down. Sampson, bring some tea and seed cakes. Let me take that pelisse.”

Jessie willingly gave it up. It was an ugly mustard color, but she’d believed she had to have something to make her unquestionably female. The one Glenda had promised to give her hadn’t materialized, damn Glenda. She hadn’t gotten any gowns either, damn Glenda again. The Duchess folded the pelisse neatly, as if it were very valuable, and laid it over the back of a chair that had probably had kings sit in it. The current king, George IV, was very fat. She hoped he didn’t visit and sit in that chair. It would collapse, surely. She didn’t want to sit in it either. It would realize she was a peasant and disintegrate in shock.

“Now,” the Duchess said as she sat gracefully in a narrow, terribly French-looking chair across from Jessie, who’d gingerly sat herself on the edge of a blue brocade settee, “how is James?”

“Don’t forget Aunt Wilhelmina, Duchess.”

The Duchess sighed. “One hesitates even to speak her name, but all right, I’ll include her in the question. And dear Ursula. How are all of the American Wyndhams?”

“As of six weeks ago, they were fine, ma’am.”

This was interesting, the Duchess was thinking. She resumed her charming smile. “Miss Warfield, tell us how we may help you.”

“Well, you see, ma’am, I’m here not to race because I know that in England all females must be extra proper and that ladies can’t wear trousers and can’t be jockeys and can’t ride in races and—”

The earl raised his hand. “How old are you, Miss Warfield?”

That took her aback a bit but she managed to say, “I am twenty, sir. James is twenty-seven and—”

“Did you travel from Baltimore to England all by yourself?”

Jessie knew the English were very particular about things like this and thus lied swiftly and cleanly. “I had a maid to accompany me, but she got vilely ill on board ship and then there was this ghastly storm, so violent, and everyone got very sick, me included, and poor Drusilla went on deck, vomited over the railing, and fell overboard she was heaving so hard. So I had no choice but to come here from Plymouth on a mail coach.”

The Duchess looked to her husband. He looked on the point of bursting into laughter. She looked quickly at the very serious, very frightened face, and said, “These things happen. It is tragic that poor Drusilla had to meet her maker in such an unfortunate manner, but you managed very creditably to get here all by yourself.”

“Well, there was one horrible thing that happened. It was near the town called Hayfield and there were three men with masks on their faces and they wanted to steal everything. I’d hidden my money beneath my gown—oh dear, anyway, I gave them my five dollars and they just looked at it. The leader spit on it and tossed it back to me and said he didn’t want any of that odd stuff from the Orient. At least that’s what I think he said. He was very difficult to understand.”

Jessie came to a halt all by herself this time. She was appalled at what she’d freely admitted. Surely they believed her a vulgar, brainless twit. She said, “Forgive me. I’m talking so very much and usually I don’t. I’m just so very scared.”